


My Own Sins

by SaskiaK



Series: America’s Suitehearts [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-10-31 16:52:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 44,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10903515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaskiaK/pseuds/SaskiaK
Summary: Fictional characters don't just appear and start demanding your help, do they? Don't they? America's Suitehearts Video Fic. The feuding Mr Sandman and Dr Benzedrine are both trying to enlist the guys' help to stop the other destroying their life. Will they get dragged into their feud? Well, probably... whether they like it or not! :)





	1. Enter Sandman... and Benzedrine

Pete’s eyes flew wide open as he hit the floor. Sweat streamed from his nearly naked body as he struggled to free himself from the tangle of sheets wrapped tightly around him. At first, the more he struggled, the tighter the sheets pulled around him. Breathing hard, almost hyperventilating, and sweat stinging his eyes, he forced himself to calm down. It could only be that he was twisting the wrong way, but the terrifying dream he remembered vividly had momentarily taken away all reason.

“Calm down!” he scolded himself harshly.  
“That’s right, Pete,” a voice growled from the corner of the room beyond the bed. “You’re no use to me like this.”  
“Wha…! Who’s there?” Pete cried, his voice shaking.

Panic set in as he renewed his fruitless struggles. From the opposite side of the room, he could hear the dull click of boots slowly making their way across the hardwood floor. Grunting in frustration, Pete felt the sheets wrap increasingly tighter around him until he was barely able to move. Utterly at a loss to understand how this could be happening, Pete turned his head to look up at the approaching figure. His eyes widened at the figure standing over him. Black hair swept to the side; a wide, large mouth with bright white teeth; a black mesh shirt; shimmering gold pants mostly covered by thigh length boots and a huge studded belt; his shins covered with bronze armour; long black gloves trimmed with gold and over it all, a floor length black coat made of a sheer, flowing material topped off by a large ruff-like collar also trimmed with gold. He was looking up at himself in his Mr Sandman costume from the America’s Suitehearts video. He was stunned and speechless, but above all, he was frightened.

“No,” the figure spoke again, “you’re not imagining this and you might as well stop struggling, you won’t get free until I allow you to.”  
“Who are you?” he asked nervously, still writhing within the sheets, despite believing the words of his counterpart.  
“You know who I am, Pete,” the figure laughed.  
“I’m dreaming!” Pete shouted in return.  
“Of course you’re dreaming,” the figure laughed harshly. “I’m Mr Sandman, I haunt your dreams! But it doesn’t make me any the less real. You know I’m real, don’t you Pete? That much you know for sure.”

Finally giving up the fight with the bedclothes, Pete stared up nervously at… himself.

“What do you want?” he finally asked. “You want something, don’t you? Tell me, then let me wake up.”

Mr Sandman laughed. He could tell that Pete was playing along, not really believing, just wanting to get through the nightmare and wake up.

“Very well, Pete, I’ll tell you,” he smirked. “And, yes, I know you won’t believe me and you’ll think it all a dream, but you’ll learn soon enough how real I am. I have plans, important plans, plans that could include you, if you like. I can offer you anything Pete, remember that the dream world is at my disposal, and anything you wish for can be made real. Remember that. I need your help to… ah… dispose of someone. He’s no fun and he always tries to ruin mine.”  
“Who?” asked Pete, now resigned to his helpless state and curious.  
“Who?” Mr Sandman asked as if surprised by the question. “Dr Benzedrine of course! Who else?”

*

Patrick had spent the day so far looking over his shoulder. Something or someone was always there, right up until the moment he turned. Always on the verge of catching whoever was following him, he had been unsuccessful all morning.  
When it began, he had been unconcerned, assuming he was imagining it, but as the day wore on he moved on to irritated, through curious and finally unnerved. Was he being stalked? Was it a fan? A photographer? A detective? A psycho? Each new thought taking him to new levels of anxiety. Turning once more as the movement and distinctive flash of colour caught his eye, he was again disappointed to find nothing and no one nearby. With a heavy sigh, Patrick nodded to himself as he decided to put himself in a position where he was in control. Across the street a coffee shop caught his eye. It wasn’t one he had visited before and while this would normally be an ideal diversion, right now he craved familiarity. In familiar surroundings he would be better able to watch for whoever had dogged his every movement all day. Deciding to go with what was available he crossed the street and headed for the small coffee shop; instantly he was glad he had. There was something very comforting about the dimly lit room, decorated with an old-world charm, added to which a smooth, rich aroma of ground beans hung in the air. Even the dull whirring of the cappuccino machine brought a smile to his face, a smile that had been absent most of the day. Instead of a bland array of small tables and chairs in a bright, sterile environment, Patrick was delighted to see a long wall of semi-private booths, deeply padded seats of plush material looked both comfortable and inviting. Ordering a coffee and an oat and raisin cookie, Patrick took a seat in the end booth farthest from the door. If anyone came in, anyone who looked remotely like they could be the person who had followed him all day, he would know.

“Thanks,” Patrick smiled at the waitress as she placed the mug and plate on the table. Looking down, he stared in wide-eyed disbelief at what was probably the largest cookie he had ever seen.  
“Can I get you anything, Sir?” she asked politely.  
“Huh?” 

Patrick looked up and immediately jerked back with a start as he stared at the man now sitting opposite him in the booth. Stunned into silence, Patrick found himself sitting perfectly still as the man ordered coffee and a slice of cheesecake for himself.

“I do like cheesecake,” he offered an almost grave expression to accompany what should have been a light-hearted statement. “Do you?” he added.  
“Who are you?” Patrick whispered, still unnerved by the man’s sudden arrival.  
“You know who I am,” he replied with a raised eyebrow, as he pulled a gooey piece off Patrick’s cookie and popped it in his mouth.

Patrick stared almost blankly as the man sitting opposite continued to help himself to his cookie. He was garishly dressed in a canary yellow suit with oversized black lapels, a matching shirt and bow tie, topped by a smart cream coloured waistcoat and a flamboyant yellow top hat sporting a bright yellow ostrich feather. And, of course, aside from the almost cartoon make up, he was the very image of Patrick. Somehow, despite his outrageously gaudy appearance he was strangely intimidating. Perhaps it was his serious, almost stern mannerisms, or perhaps it was that Patrick knew that this couldn’t be real… could it?

“You’re… I’m imagining this.”  
“Thank you,” he nodded at the waitress as his coffee and cheesecake arrived. Breaking off a piece with his fork and closing his eyes, he savoured the flavour. “Ah, yes, I do like cheesecake.”  
“I said, I’m imagining this!” Patrick repeated.  
“So you said, but are you trying to convince me or you?”

Patrick frowned; he had a point.

“You can’t be real… you’re fictional,” Patrick reasoned.  
“Well, that’s possible, or you could be crazy,” he swallowed another forkful of cake before continuing. “Or, I could be exactly who I say I am.”  
“And… I can’t believe I’m asking this… who do you say you are?” Patrick asked, almost dreading the answer.

Offering an almost haughty expression made all the more so by the tiny painted lips, he narrowed his eyes before passing a small business card to Patrick. With a small sigh, Patrick turned the card in his hands and read:

Doctor Silas P Benzedrine – Purveyor of natural stimulants to aid wakefulness and alertness

“Doctor Benzedrine?” Patrick shook his head in dismay. “Why have you been following me all day?”  
“I need your help,” he admitted with a deep frown. “I have a little matter to resolve with Mr Sandman.”

Patrick dropped his head into his hand and sighed heavily.

“Yeah, Mr Sandman. Of course you do, makes perfect sense. Why did I not realise straight away?”  
“Are you being sarcastic? Because, you know, if you are, I have a cure for that.”


	2. Try Not to Get Killed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandman and Benzedrine try to explain to Pete and Patrick... in their own ways

“Cheque please,” Patrick called to the waitress, looking away from the strangely dressed man seated opposite him.  
“You can’t keep ignoring me, you know,” Benzedrine announced disdainfully.  
“Oh, I think you’ll find I can,” Patrick snapped back barely glancing at him.

Benzedrine snorted his disdain as Patrick continued to look away from him and over towards the counter. To Patrick’s relief, the waitress returned within moments with the slip of paper detailing both orders and one total. As she walked away to serve another table, Patrick frowned before staring expectantly at Benzedrine.

“Well?” he finally prompted.  
“Well what?” Benzedrine cocked his head to the side, staring quizzically at Patrick.  
“Aren’t you going to pay your share?”  
“No,” he replied with an innocent tone as if the question were ridiculous.  
“You’re paying half!”  
“You know,” he patted his pockets theatrically. “I think I left my wallet in my other suit.”  
“Then I’ll just leave you to pay.”  
“I think you may have a little difficulty doing that,” Benzedrine leaned forward and whispered. “They can’t see me.”  
“What are you talking about? You asked her for coffee and cake!” Patrick replied quickly. “And more to the point, she heard you!”

Glancing up, Patrick was unnerved to see numerous faces openly staring at him and a few others sneaking sidelong glances.

“Not really,” Benzedrine shook his head before pointing at the table. “Look.”

Patrick glanced at the table and for the first time, he noticed that both plates and cups were on his side of the table. Had Benzedrine pushed them over? Had they always been there? Was this exactly how it appeared - a troubled mind inventing the entire scenario?

“Anyway, I thought you were ignoring me?” the brightly dressed man asked with a raised eyebrow.

Patrick sighed; this guy was really getting under his skin and the worst of it was, he was his own fictional character – basically, he was irritating himself.

“I can see you’re wondering if you are, in fact going insane, I assure you I’m real.”  
“Really?” Patrick turned an uncertain expression back to the man opposite.  
“Really!”

Could he be going insane? Was he imagining him? It was broad daylight, he’d had a reasonably decent amount of sleep, he was taking no medication that could induce strange hallucinogenic side-effects and he felt perfectly healthy in himself. Benzedrine couldn’t possibly be real. There could be no physical cause; that left only one possibility. He was going insane. It was as simple as that. There was a simple test, but either way, he would run the risk of appearing a lunatic. With money in his hand to pay the bill, he called the waitress over.

“Yes, Sir?” she addressed him politely but with a worried frown. “Is everything okay?”  
“Er… yeah, that is…” Patrick was reluctant to actually speak the words, finally deciding just to get it over with. “Can you see him?” he asked, jabbing a finger in Benzedrine’s direction.  
“Sir?” the waitress asked, confused by the question.  
“There’s no one there, is there?” he added. Initially, there was an element of triumph to his tone, but it mixed with concern as he realised the implications of what that meant – he was hallucinating.  
“Are you serious?” she asked as she took the proffered money.  
“He’s very serious,” Benzedrine confirmed. “Sadly, he’s… ah… having a bad day. I suggest you answer him. If you can, perhaps you could describe me a little for good measure.”  
“I’m having a bad day because of you!” Patrick snapped, unsure if he was making matters worse by talking to what he wanted to believe was an empty seat.  
“No, Sir, there’s no one there,” she replied with a deep frown. “Would you like me to call anyone for you?”  
“Men in white coats maybe?” Benzedrine suggested dryly.  
“No… I… I’m not crazy… I… I’m just… Keep the change,” Patrick gabbled as he slid from the booth and headed briskly for the door.  
“Wait for me!” Benzedrine shouted. “We still have to talk about what I need from you!”  
“Go away!” Patrick shouted back, no longer caring what people thought.

*

Pete jerked his eyes open in a sudden exaggerated move. Momentarily he was disorientated and confused. Vaguely he remembered a nightmare and waking in a tangle of sheets beside the bed. It had felt so real, and now, he thought, he realised why. Lying at an awkward angle with his legs still trailing up towards the bed, Pete lay with his arms tightly wrapped in the twisted sheets. He was cold and stiff and must have been lying there for easily thirty minutes or more. Moving his arms inside the cotton cocoon was proving difficult; the only movement possible was from the elbows down. His legs were even more tightly wrapped.

“It was a bad dream,” he reassured himself. “You tossed and turned and fell out of bed.”

Pete held his breath waiting for a reply as had happened before in his dream, finally exhaling when there was only silence. Twisting to his left, Pete felt the sheets close tighter around him. Changing direction, Pete sighed with relief as the tangle of sheets loosened around him and he was finally able to pull free. A few more turns released his legs and he dragged himself backwards along the wooden floor, grateful to be able to stand at last. Shivering with cold, Pete reached straight away for his clothes still bundled in the corner of the room where he’d left them the night before and pulled them on quickly. Turning, his eyes widened with horror as he saw the figure from his dream standing right in front of him. Mr Sandman gave him a broad grin as he caught the expression on Pete’s face.

“I told you, I need to dispose of Dr Benzedrine, did you think I’d just get bored with the idea and go home?”  
“I’m still asleep?” Pete’s brow furrowed; this dream was too real. When would he wake up? How would he know?  
“No, not this time, I’m afraid,” Sandman grinned mischievously again. “This time it’s real, but there’s a slight hitch. I can’t stay real if you do.”

Pete’s eyes widened, was this… this psycho going to kill him? Stepping backward to put distance between him and the man who looked so much like him, Pete headed unknowingly towards what he would later discover to be a tear in the fabric of reality. A long, thin black line, roughly four feet in length, appeared gradually and hung in the air immediately behind him, widening as he approached it.

“You have to take my place, I’m sorry, it’s just the way it has to be. It’s only temporary until I’ve disposed of Doctor Benzedrine,” Sandman tried to explain to the puzzled bassist. “Try not to get killed, that would be… awkward… for you, not me.”  
“What the hell are you talking about?” Pete finally managed.

Without another word, Sandman rushed forward, closing the distance that Pete had put between them and shoved him backwards. The black oval behind Pete was now wide enough to accommodate him, but the opening began just below his knees causing him to fall backwards into the blackness. A cry of surprise escaped his lips but was immediately cut off as his head slipped through the void. As his feet disappeared, the tear sealed itself and finally faded.

“Now then!” Sandman clapped his hands together gleefully. “A change of clothes and off to destroy Benzedrine!”

*

He felt as if he was never going to stop falling. At first he had screamed, loud and long until all his breath was exhausted, but he kept falling. Catching his breath again, the panic in him released itself almost immediately as another terrified scream. Running out of breath once more, Pete was still falling. Everything around him was total blackness, not a speck of light to be seen. Somehow, he had the impression that there would be nothing to see even if there had been enough light to pick anything out. There was no sense of heat, or wind either. He would expect to feel wind rushing past him as he continued to drop, but there was nothing. In fact, the only reasons he knew he was falling was that he occasionally turned and there was nothing beneath him. Finally, he realised that he had been thinking about this for quite some time and yet he was still falling, he assumed rapidly. 

Without a hint of warning, a flood of lights, aromas and noise assaulted his senses. A cacophony of sound filled his ears as he broke through from the utter darkness into a green-tinged hazy gloom. From apparently nowhere, a wind whipped up around him giving him some idea of the frightening speed his fall had reached. A cursory glance told him that he was underground in some sort of cave-like structure and that the floor was rushing to meet him. Now he realised that the noise filling his ears was his own renewed screams as he hurtled to what he was sure would be his death.

His screams stopped abruptly with a loud huff as some of the air was driven from his lungs. Somehow he had landed safely and unhurt. Pausing briefly to get his breath back, Pete looked up. His eyes widened in surprise as he found himself lying across a man’s arms, being carried bridal-style as he recovered his wits.

“Mr Sandman said you’d be dropping in, he sent me to catch you.”  
“Andy?” Pete cried as he struggled to get down from the scoop-like hold he had him in.  
“Stop wriggling!” the man scolded. “I’ll put you down.”

Dropped gently to his feet, Pete straightened his clothes and smoothed his hair as he continued to stare at the man who had saved him from certain death. In contrast to the black and gold of Mr Sandman’s outfit, he was colourfully dressed in a green tailcoat with lime green lapels, a matching bow tie and a pair of cropped pants of yet another shade of green, all topped off by a small, ill-fitting lime green hat decorated with a large felt sunflower. Beneath the jacket, he had opted to go without a shirt, revealing a human canvas of colourful tattoos that almost drew the eyes away from the garish suit. But most of all, he was the image of Andy. As he had found with Mr Sandman, this man was Andy’s counterpart from the America’s Suitehearts video. It was surreal to say the least. He almost dreaded the question he was about to ask. He felt he knew what the answer would be, but there was no choice, he had to be sure.

“Who are you?”  
“I’m Donnie,” the man replied with a smile.  
“The World’s Greatest Catcher?” Pete sighed; wishing desperately that he could wake from what he hoped was a nightmare.  
“That’s right,” Donnie replied proudly. “Come on,” he added as he began to walk briskly away.  
“W… wait! Where are we going?”  
“To the Dream World, of course,” he answered without breaking stride.  
“Where are we now?” Pete asked, struggling to keep up.  
“The Hills,” Donnie replied darkly. “We can’t stay here.”  
“Why?” Pete’s curiosity peaked.

Donnie stopped his brisk strides and turned a quizzical expression toward Pete. 

“I’m assuming you want to survive?”  
”Yeah.” Pete’s brow furrowed and the intimidating question.  
“Then we can’t stay here.”

Doubling his efforts, Pete caught up with Donnie as he headed down a long tunnel of uneven and misshapen brickwork. So, this is what he meant by ‘Try not to be killed’?

“What about Doctor Benzedrine?” Pete shouted as Donnie picked up his pace and lengthened the gap between them.

Turning sharply, Donnie shushed him, trying to keep his voice to a low hiss.

“Not here,” he shook his head to emphasise. “I’ll tell you everything I can when we get there.”  
“But, my friend, Patrick…”  
“I know!” he snapped, interrupting. “I said I’d tell you when we get there.”

Without another word, Donnie spun on his heels and headed swiftly into the tunnel with Pete racing after him.

*

Sandman stood back from the mirror and frowned. He had removed all of his make up, discarded his thigh-length boots, glittering gold pants and long sheer coat. In place of his outfit of choice were a pair of skinny jeans, a dark blue shirt, pale grey hoodie and a pair of acid-wash sky tops. Exhaling noisily, his frown deepened as he combed his hair to sit flat against his head.

“So very drab!” he complained. 

Picking up Pete’s phone from the bedside cabinet, Sandman smiled as he punched in a sequence of buttons.

“You didn’t know I’ve been watching you, did you, Petey boy?” he grinned as he heard the ringing tone. “I know enough to get by and fool them that I’m you.”

Only a few rings later, Sandman heard what was, to him, the familiar voice of two different people – of course, this could really only be Patrick.

“Hello?” the singer asked tentatively.  
“Patrick, are you alone?”

Normally an easy question, it was now not quite so straightforward. Glancing at Benzedrine who hadn’t left his side all day, Patrick sighed and gave the honest answer.

“I… don’t know.”  
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Sandman asked.  
“Pete, I… I don’t know how to say this… I think I’m hallucinating.”

Sandman could hear the uncertainty in Patrick’s voice, the unwillingness to accept that he was going crazy, but the lack of any other explanation. He frowned as he realised the only possible reason for Patrick’s troubled state – Benzedrine had already found him.

“I really need to speak to you, Patrick… alone,” Sandman insisted before adding: “You’re not hallucinating, well, not unless I am too.”  
“You mean…?”  
“Yeah, I mean lose the canary-coloured freak!”  
“But… how did you…?” Patrick struggled to find ways to phrase his sentences so that that Benzedrine wouldn’t immediately know what, or rather, who he was talking about.  
“I’ll explain later. I’ll meet you at the studio in an hour. I understand you can’t say much now, just find a way to get rid of him – even temporarily.”  
“Okay,” Patrick nodded to himself, frowning as the line went dead.

As he turned, Patrick staggered backwards as he practically brushed noses with Doctor Benzedrine who was stretching the definition of personal space.

“I’ll come straight to the point,” Benzedrine began. “Mr Sandman is trying to destroy me, but without me, everyone would lie in a permanent sleep state, locked in one of his hellish nightmares. We have to stop him!”


	3. Don't Look At The Camera!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete is mistaken for Mr Sandman and Dr Benzedrine gets scary

“Look, I don’t know what…”  
“Patrick, I need your help, I told you!” Dr. Benzedrine pleaded, somehow maintaining a stern expression. “Don’t you want to help me? Do you really want Mr. Sandman to win and a permanent sleep state take over?”  
“Well… no… but…”  
“There is no but!” Benzedrine insisted. “You must help me defeat him, it’s the only way.”  
“Look,” Patrick began firmly, “I don’t even know if you’re real!”

Benzedrine cocked his head on one side and raised an eyebrow; his painted red lips seemed to get even smaller still as he pouted at what he viewed as an insult.

“Would you like me to prove how real I am?” he snapped haughtily.

At first taken aback, Patrick was just about to agree to whatever demonstration Benzedrine had in mind, but at the last moment he hesitated.

“Is this going to hurt?” he asked tentatively.  
“Not in the slightest!” Benzedrine announced confidentially.  
“Okay then,” Patrick agreed, somewhat hesitantly.

Hastily clenching his fist, Dr. Benzedrine swung a right hook across Patrick’s jaw, watching as he spun to his right and collapsed on the floor, dazed and confused.

Patrick moaned with pain as he pushed himself to his knees.

“You told me that wouldn’t hurt!” Patrick complained bitterly as pushed himself to his knees.  
“It didn’t!” Benzedrine protested. “Well, it didn’t hurt me anyway!”  
“Huh!” Patrick cradled his painful jaw in his left hand. “Not what I meant and you know it!”  
“Possibly, but would you have let me do it if you’d known?”  
“Oddly enough – no!”  
“And you’d still be wondering, wouldn’t you?”  
“I’m sure there are other ways!” Patrick grumbled.  
“Nothing quite so effective,” Benzedrine admitted with a shrug.  
“Well, why can’t anyone see you?” Patrick asked, possibly even more confused than ever.

Benzedrine sighed, he had a confession to make and Patrick wasn’t going to like it. But he had to get past the ‘are you real’ stage.

“They can see me, when I choose to be seen. And when I don’t, they forget me. I am the reason you wake. I will wake you from sleep. At the very moment that happens, you will see me and know me and then you forget and you don’t know why you woke, all you know is that you did.”

Patrick raised his eyebrows as he took it all in; in a strange way, it seemed so very plausible. 

“So… how can I help?” he asked finally.  
“You won’t regret this! I promise you!” Benzedrine nodded, at once his tone suggested relief, excitement and indifference.  
“Hey! Wait up!” Patrick shook his head. “I didn’t say I’d do it, I just asked what you need me for.”

Benzedrine gave a harsh glare that cut through Patrick like a knife, chilling him as he looked back, uncomfortable, but unwilling to look away.

“You will, trust me, you will.”

Patrick wasn’t sure if Benzedrine was confident about his sales pitch that would make it obvious why he should help, or if… if he was actually being threatened.

“Let me explain,” Benzedrine added gently. 

Somehow, it did nothing to settle Patrick’s mind. Something had triggered warning bells in his mind and he was not about to ignore them. Benzedrine was certainly an odd, strangely painted, unsmiling version of himself; but was he just serious or dangerous?

*

“Hey!” Pete called. “Slow down, can’t you? How can you walk so fast anyway?”

Glancing over his shoulder, Donnie frowned to see Pete over ten feet behind him and losing more distance with every stride.

“I know what’s good for me!” Donnie snapped as he waited for Pete to catch up. Only a few feet apart, Donnie turned to walk briskly away again leaving Pete to make up the extra few feet, but once again he was easily putting distance between them. A sudden clang of metal slamming onto stone, followed by a slight shudder beneath his feet caused Donnie to turn.

“What the…” Pete cried in surprise as a barred gate dropped from the tunnel ceiling separating the two sections roughly in half. Rushing forward, Pete pushed and pulled on the bars without success.

“I told you to keep up!” Donnie hissed in frustration.  
“What is this? What’s going on?” Pete asked urgently, hoping Donnie would not only know, but also have a plan of action.  
“You have to get out!” Donnie yelled pointing down the tunnel in the direction they had walked in. “Get out before they arrive.”  
“Who?” Pete asked his eyes widening. “Before who gets here?”

Donnie took a deep breath as his gaze focussed beyond where Pete now stood.

“It’s too late, they’re here.”

Pete turned slowly. Less than twenty feet away, dark shapes loomed in the shadows, with more seeming to emerge from the walls. Stepping closer, they were within ten feet before Pete even recognised them as human.

“Who are they?” Pete turned back to Donnie, only to find he had backed away from the bars, his expression one of nervous attention. “Donnie!” Pete yelled. “Who are they? What do I do?”  
“The photographers,” Donnie replied darkly.

Turning again, Pete saw them now within five feet. Some of them were middle-aged, mostly in suits or shirts and vests, all wore hats and carried large old-fashioned cameras with wide flash attachments. Suddenly unafraid of these very ordinary looking people, Pete wondered why Donnie was so concerned. Okay, they had him cornered against a barred gate and there were five of them, but Pete was more than capable of handling himself in a fight. Watching them carefully, and ready to simply plough through them, Pete eyed what he hoped would be a good escape route. 

“So now,” one of them asked menacingly, “what do we have here? This is quite a story! Mr Sandman trespassing in The Hills.”  
“You don’t have your dreams and parlour tricks to help you here,” said another.

Pete frowned; they were, without doubt, the creepiest Paparazzi he had ever seen. Clearly, despite his clothes and lack of outlandish make-up, they thought he was Mr. Sandman. Perhaps not so unreasonable, he thought, given their facial similarities. One of the photographers raised his camera, offering a sinister grin as he did.

“I’m not…”

It was all Pete managed to say before Donnie yelled from the other side of the bars.

“Don’t look at the camera!”

It was too late. Still watching the only photographer that seemed to be moving, Pete was blinded by a sudden dazzling flash and was instantly overwhelmed by a heavy, dragging sensation. The tunnel whirled around him as the light from the flash burned as an after image in his eyes. Then he was falling, out cold before he even landed.

Donnie looked on, wide-eyed as Pete disappeared from the tunnel. The photographer lowered the camera and pulled the square of thick shiny white paper from a thin slot at the base. Grinning as the photograph developed, the man looked up and waved the square of paper at Donnie, revealing a picture of Pete lying unconscious on the floor.

“Sorry, Donnie, we’ve got him now. The Guv’nor will pay well for Mr Sandman.”

Donnie watched silently as the photographers left the tunnel, their laughter echoing off the stone walls. Unsure whether it would be more dangerous for Pete to tell them he wasn’t Mr Sandman, Donnie said nothing. This was… a problem.

*

The park was small by normal standards, but large enough to sit quietly and be unobserved. Only a couple of acres of land standing opposite a church and cemetery; Patrick reflected on the possibility that the park probably belonged to the church – a piece of landscaped property that had gone unused as part of the cemetery perhaps? Anyway, regardless of its actual purpose and who it belonged to, it was, to him, somewhere to hide. It was somewhere for him to take stock. But most of all, it was somewhere he could talk to the selectively visible Dr Benzedrine without seeming to passers by as if he were insane. Silently Patrick was pleased that it was a bitterly cold day and so very few people were strolling through, it wasn’t large enough to jog through either and, generally speaking, most people barely registered that it was there.

“I need to go to the studio,” Patrick announced as he returned his phone to his pocket. “We have to rehearse.”  
“We don’t have time!” Benzedrine insisted.  
“I have plenty of time!” Patrick snapped in reply, rubbing a hand across his still painful jaw, as if to remind his companion of the reason for his lack of sympathy with his cause.  
“What do I have to do to convince you to do as I ask?” Benzedrine asked darkly.  
“I don’t even know what you want!” Patrick raised his voice, satisfied that no one would hear him.  
“I told you, I want you to help me destroy Mr Sandman and I told you why!” Benzedrine was becoming increasingly agitated by Patrick’s refusal to fall in line.  
“How do I know that it isn’t you that needs destroying?” Patrick demanded as he pulled his coat tighter around him, protecting himself from the chill wind in the open parkland. “I don’t even know where you’re from or how you’re here – you or this Mr. Sandman!”

Benzedrine pouted, his red of his painted lips almost vanishing in his annoyance.

“Okay, I’ll tell you everything,” Benzedrine growled through gritted teeth.  
“I have to go to the studio,” Patrick replied moving to stand.  
“Sit down!” Benzedrine yelled, pushing Patrick back onto the bench and holding him there. “Don’t make me force you.”  
“You’re doing nothing to convince me to help you!” Patrick snapped back with a mixture of surprise and anger at his reaction.  
“You think I care about getting you to do what I want?” Benzedrine finally smiled, but it wasn’t a pleasant smile. “It’s not something I need to do, I can force you and I will if you continue to resist.”

Trying to stand once more, Patrick’s eyes widened as he found he could barely move under Benzedrine’s hold. Looking around urgently, Patrick’s heart sank as he realised that his decision to find somewhere quiet had left him alone and without any likelihood of any help.

“Yes,” Benzedrine chuckled callously, “you’re quite alone. Now, as I promised, I will explain all about us to you, but then, you’ll do everything I tell you to. I’m afraid you’re long past having a choice in this.”

Patrick stared up fearfully; he had grossly underestimated the man and had, as a result, played right into his hands. Seeing what he had managed to do already, Patrick had no reason to doubt that his threat to force him to do his bidding was genuine enough. No one knew where he was and he was unable to raise the alarm. He was in trouble – big trouble!

*

This was just a little bit too weird, Pete had decided. Mr. Sandman had tricked him. No, more accurately he had trapped him. It wasn’t his choice to be here in this strange world, not even accidentally and now he was… well, in truth he didn’t know where he was. The last he remembered was walking at pace down a dark mis-shapen brick tunnel with Donnie then the blinding flash of a camera and now he had woken here – wherever here was. Getting to his feet, he examined his surroundings. Behind him, it looked like the tunnel, the sides, blank white walls, the front, totally clear, clearer than glass. 

There seemed to be nothing there, but whatever it was, it was hard to the touch and completely solid. Using one of the moves he had learned for the Sixteen Candles video, Pete turned sharply and raised his right leg high, straightening it into what would have been a vicious kick. A shockwave ran along his leg and a severe judder shaking almost every bone in his body as it passed through him. Instantly collapsing in an explosion of pain, he felt as though he had kicked a brick wall. Arching his back as the pain coursed through him, he snatched at breaths as the agony subsided. Finally Pete flopped onto his side, breathing slowly as he summoned the courage to check himself over. Gingerly, he reached down, pressing his fingers along the length of his thigh. Pushing himself partially upright, he continued to check beyond his knee. 

Without shoes, he knew that his feet were likely to be most severely damaged and on checking he found his heel seemed badly bruised, but that seemed to be all. Thankful that nothing seemed to be broken, Pete massaged his still aching leg before sitting up fully. Wherever he was, he was trapped. He could see out of his prison, but there wasn’t much to see; the tiled ceiling of what might have been an office and in the periphery a wall with some clippings and notes pinned to it. It was only then that he realised that the window to his cell seemed to face upwards, he was facing it, yet he had just been standing. It meant he was standing horizontally! How was that even possible? Yes, a little too weird for his liking! He wondered if anyone cared where he was. Donnie knew he had been taken, yes, but did he care? Was anyone even trying to rescue him? Mr Sandman’s words kept coming back to him. ‘Try not to get killed. That would be awkward… for you, not me.’ Even he didn’t seem to care, why should anyone else? The best he could hope for was that Patrick was faring better than he was.


	4. Who's Telling the Truth?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr Sandman and Dr Benzedrine both try to convince Patrick, but which, if either or both, is telling the truth?

“Well now,” Benzedrine began as he walked slowly around the bench upon which Patrick was seated, straining against whatever invisible force was holding him in place. Leaning over Patrick’s shoulder, Benzedrine’s fingers gripped the back of the bench. “Oh, please stop!” he snapped irritably.  
“How are you doing this?” Patrick asked, refusing to stop trying to free himself.

Benzedrine sighed noisily and lowered himself stiffly, yet elegantly down onto the bench next to Patrick and began examining his nails.

“I had hoped that we could dispense with all of this and you would just help me deal with him,” he grumbled, straightening his waistcoat. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I did tell you about him, did I not?”  
“I’m not gonna help you kill a guy just because…”  
“Didn’t you hear me tell you what he’s going to do? Surely you realise this is no ordinary man, certainly not in the sense you understand.”  
“I don’t know about him, but you’re sure as hell not ordinary!”  
“Quite! I think you realise by now that this is not my world.” Benzedrine raised an eyebrow. “Am I right?”  
“Yeah,” Patrick nodded solemnly. “But it seems different to hear it out loud.”  
“Indeed,” he nodded indifferently. “And neither is Mr Sandman. So, if you help me deal with him, you’re not doing anything to anyone from your own world, are you? To all intent and purpose, he’s fictitious.”  
“I thought you both were,” Patrick replied miserably as every attempt to free himself from Benzedrine’s hold failed.  
“We exist in another reality, you just provided the link to allow us through,” came the surprisingly sympathetic reply.  
“How do I know you’re not lying to me?” Patrick finally gave in to exhaustion. “You have me pinned here, you’ve threatened me…”  
“Threatened you!” Benzedrine stared wide-eyed at Patrick as if he had uttered a hurtful remark.  
“Telling me that you can and will force me to do what you want! You don’t see that as threatening?” Patrick snapped at the surprise rebuttal.  
Benzedrine’s expression melted into an unreadable smirk. “Well, maybe a little. But it’s only because I need to do this and I do need your help, I really do.”  
“I want you to let me go,” Patrick insisted. “I won’t even listen to you if you keep me from moving like this.”  
“All right!” Benzedrine snapped petulantly. “As a gesture of goodwill, I will let you move, but you will hear me out!”  
“I told you, I don’t appreciate being threatened!” Patrick shouted back, determined to stand his ground, even though he doubted that Benzedrine would have let him walk away if he’d tried.  
“Of course,” the brightly dressed image of himself sounded almost contrite.  
“You were going to explain?” Patrick prompted, satisfied that they had reached some sort of compromise. The more he knew, the better his chances of deciding if Benzedrine was on the level and if not, perhaps he would gain some insight into how to escape him.

Benzedrine drew his lips into a thin frown and nodded.

“I’m from The Hills…”  
“What Hills?”  
“Are you going to let me tell this?”  
“I will have questions!” Patrick snapped back, refusing to be intimidated.  
“Yes…” Benzedrine growled. “Maybe they’re best left until after?”

Patrick nodded. There wasn’t much else he could do.

“My world is called Carousel. It’s not part of your world, as such, but it’s not entirely separate either. There are many districts, but mine is The Hills. I’m sure you’d like it, it’s bright, it’s cheerful and we revere celebrities.”  
“I’m not a celebrity,” Patrick replied flatly.  
“I’m afraid you are, whether you like it or not,” Benzedrine returned impatiently, before calming his voice to add: “But it would be different in The Hills, you can be yourself, whatever that really is.”  
“Okay, skip the sales pitch,” Patrick gestured with his hand to keep the story moving. “Go on.”  
“The Dream World exists adjacent to us, connected by a tunnel. Don’t be fooled by the name, it’s not all dreams believe me! It used to be once,” Benzedrine sighed reflectively. “We were connected by more than a tunnel once. Mr Sandman would weave the dreams and eventually they would become reality in The Hills. But then came the jealousy and the resentment. Mr Sandman stopped understanding that it was a two-part process. He grew bitter that when anyone’s dreams came true, they made no reference to his part in their success and happiness.”  
“Reference? How?” Patrick asked.

Benzedrine fought back a frown and the urge to restate that questions should be left until the end. This particular question was leading onto the next part of his explanation anyway, so he let it slide.

“We have two celebrity magazines, both very, very different from each other.” Benzedrine allowed himself a slight smile. “They’re supposed to be rival magazines, but they’re actually run by the same man. You have to admire the man’s marketing techniques. People will buy one over the other almost in protest, all without realising that at the end of the day the money is going to the same man.”  
“And you don’t question this man’s ethics?” Patrick asked bluntly.  
Benzedrine frowned. “This man, you don’t question. Period.”

Patrick had suddenly so many more questions, but realised that the original story was in danger of derailing. Putting aside his curiosity for a while, Patrick urged Benzedrine to get back on track.

“So, Mr Sandman got angry?”  
“You’re very astute, Patrick,” Benzedrine smiled appreciatively. “Yes, Mr Sandman got very angry. Sometimes he can be nothing but a spoiled brat, but this particular brat has power, a dangerous power for one so frequently immature.”  
“So, what does he want from you?” Patrick asked to Benzedrine’s surprise.  
“Want?” he asked guardedly.  
“Yeah,” Patrick frowned as he asked what seemed to him to be an obvious question. “What does he want? Recognition? What?”  
“I told you what he wants,” Benzedrine leaned back and looked away. “He wants to trap everyone in a permanent sleep state, strip them of all their dreams and desires and leave them with nothing but nightmares and fears.”  
“Did you skip a bit?” Patrick asked calmly.

Benzedrine pouted. Behind his painted mask, it was easy to see he was angry as he fixed Patrick with a stern glare. Trying hard not to react to the fear the look instilled in him, Patrick returned the harsh gaze with one of his own.

“It seems a bit of an overreaction for a first response,” he explained.  
“You clearly don’t know Mr Sandman,” Benzedrine gave a clipped reply.

Deciding to reserve judgement, Patrick rose to his feet.

“Where are you going?” Benzedrine placed a hand on his chest, the very action of doing so almost seem to drain Patrick of all energy. “You haven’t agreed to help yet.”  
“I need to talk it over with the guys,” Patrick replied, buying time and finally thinking of a reason to be allowed to go to the studio.

Benzedrine gave a solemn nod. This was harder than he imagined it would be, but it was at least a step in the right direction.

*

It was a source of great frustration for Pete as he languished in his small prison for what seemed an age. He could see out, but what appeared to be a window was unbreakable; he had hurt himself quite badly trying to do just that. Touching it again, he noticed that it seemed to move under his fingertips. Pete stepped back and put his hand to his mouth as he considered his next move. If it was flexible, perhaps it could be torn? Reaching inside his jeans pocket, he pulled out a small bunch of keys; it was worth a try. Making a fist around the bunch, with one key protruding, Pete brought it down sharply on the transparency that held him inside the strange composite room. His eyes shot wide as he punctured the flexible wall. Pulling sharply down, a sound like tearing paper filled his ears. Eventually tearing a long hole, almost half the length of the transparent wall, Pete stuffed the keys back into his pocket and, curling his fingers around the tear, pulled with all his strength. He felt it yield to him and, with a grunt of effort, finally toppled backwards as he tore a hole wide enough for him to squeeze through. Pushing through the gap, Pete immediately fell heavily onto his back as his entire world seemed to tilt ninety degrees. For a few moments, he lay disorientated before remembering that he had worked out that somehow he had been standing horizontally whilst in the tiny prison. Somehow on exiting, he had been returned to normal gravitational rules. Getting to his feet again and stepping back, he stared in astonishment as he saw the damaged photograph lying on the desk on which he now stood. He had escaped from a photograph? Well… it made some sort of sense… in a world that made no sense to him at all. Looking around, he realised that he was in more trouble than he could possibly have imagined. Judging from the pencil lying at his feet on the desk, he stood at a mere three inches tall.

“Well now!” A voice boomed causing Pete to automatically crouch down and cover his ears. “Aren’t you the resourceful one?”

Glancing up fearfully, he saw the unimaginably giant figure of the photographer that had taken his picture in the tunnel. He didn’t understand how it had happened, but he now realised that the action of taking his picture had somehow trapped him in the photograph from which he had just escaped. But he was now only three inches high, how could he possibly escape? Looking around urgently, Pete scrambled over the top of a notebook and headed towards the telephone. The photographer’s amusement rang loudly in his ears.

“Going to call for help, Sandman?” the man chuckled only to break off his laughter as Pete gripped the telephone cable and began lowering himself quickly to the floor. “Damn!”

Underneath the desk, it was a treacherous landscape of cables, dropped pencils, sockets and balled up paper. Trying to block out the sounds of shouting above him, Pete scrambled towards the gap at the back of the desk, pulling up sharply as a hand swiped at him, missing him by only fractions of an inch as he headed swiftly in the opposite direction.

“There!” he heard a shout, realising there was now more then one of them.

In the distance he could see the open door. In reality only a few feet away, but to his greatly reduced height, it seemed so far, it might as well have been on the horizon. Ducking back as another hand clawed at him, Pete decided he had to make a break for it. It was out in the open, yes, but they had almost caught him twice already and there was nowhere to hide. Pushing past a ball of discarded paper, Pete ran for the open door. A laugh assaulted his ears and he skidded to a halt as another giant dropped to one knee in front of him.

Damn! This was a mistake! Turning, looking frantically for cover, Pete gasped in surprise as cover found him.

“Ha! Got you!”

An upturned glass slammed down around him, the last droplets of water inside splashing down on his shoulders, soaking him. Balling his fists, Pete ineffectually punched the sides of the glass in frustration. Staring up at the man holding down the glass, Pete didn’t even see the stiff strip of cardboard being slid underneath the glass until it knocked his feet. Just about stopping himself from falling backwards as the floor seemed to move beneath him, Pete steadied himself against the damp walls of the glass as the man picked up the glass and card and peered at his captive.

“Let me out of here!” Pete’s tiny voice went almost unheard.  
“Looks like I’m going to have to find somewhere a little more secure for you. Don’t want you disappearing again before the Guv’nor gets here, do I? You’re worth a lot of money to me, Sandman.”

*

“He said what!” Sandman snapped angrily.

Both Joe and Andy turned their heads to stare at the man they believed to be Pete. Neither of them had fully taken in the bizarre tale Patrick had been telling them, yet here was Pete comfortable enough, not only to take it all in, but to begin commenting on it too.

“Patrick,” Turning his frown away from Pete, Andy addressed the singer in a low soft voice. “Do you think that maybe you’ve been working too hard lately?”

Ignoring the peels of laughter from Mr Sandman, Patrick turned to face the drummer; what began as a bewildered expression soon translated itself into a look of sheer indignance.

“I’m not making this up, Andy!” Patrick pouted.  
“No,” Andy continued using the same gentle tone, the exact same tone that suggested he was waiting for men in white coats to arrive with a strait-jacket and giant butterfly net. “No, I’m not suggesting that,” he added calmly. “Just that, maybe…”  
“Maybe I’m a little crazy?” Patrick snapped back defensively.  
“I didn’t say that, it’s just…”  
“Do you know how hard it was to speak to you guys about this?”  
“Patrick,” Joe frowned, “it’s not that we don’t believe you, it’s just that…”  
“They think you’re dipping into the squirrel stash!” Sandman howled with laughter, lying back across a bank of amps, genuinely enjoying the moment. “Oh this is priceless!”

All three band members turned harsh stares towards the chuckling figure lying on his back across the amps, laughing so hard he was shaking, lost in his own genuine amusement.

“I don’t find this funny, Pete!” Patrick shouted angrily as his friend seemed to mock him.

Mr Sandman’s laughter faded almost immediately that Patrick shouted Pete’s name. Momentarily, he had forgotten himself. Surrounded by people that resembled those he recognised from his home, he had neglected to act how he believed his counterpart would and had probably just given himself away. Turning his head to face them, Mr Sandman didn’t even rise from his position, he merely stared while he assessed the situation.

He wasn’t sure if it was worth continuing with the pretence. Dr Benzedrine appeared to have almost, if not completely, convinced Patrick of the need to help destroy him and his beloved Dream World. He would not allow it. No matter what it took, he would stop Dr Benzedrine.

“You believe him?” Sandman asked incredulously, lifting himself up and leaning back on one arm, Sandman at once managed to look urgent and relaxed.  
“Okay,” Andy frowned deeply. “Have we missed a step here?”

Glancing at Joe, who seemed equally bewildered by the turn the conversation had taken, Andy looked back, alternating his gaze between Patrick and Mr Sandman.

“What’s going on?” Andy demanded. “Joe and I are having trouble with even accepting this and you’re discussing it like it’s an everyday occurrence. Are you two messing with us?”  
Patrick turned an indignant stare towards Andy. “No! I’m serious… but… Pete? I don’t like it, but Andy’s reaction is at least normal.”  
“Did you forget?” Sandman asked jumping down from the amps. “I told you I understood that you were seeing things.”  
“I’m not seeing things!” Patrick insisted, frustrated by what he saw as Pete’s further confusion of the issue.  
“So you’re just going along with him?” Joe asked to clarify.  
“Oh yeah,” Sandman chuckled playfully. “Mad as a fish!”  
“A fish?” Patrick spat, furious with what seemed to be Pete’s attempt to belittle and mock him.  
“Not just any fish,” Sandman replied with surprising sincerity, as though he was trying to justify his comments. Gesturing with his hands, he continued: “I mean one of the big ones you get in the toxic rivers in The Hills. They’re mean! You’re not mean, but they’re totally crazy too.”

Patrick’s eyes widened at the statement. If he had checked, he’d have noticed that Andy and Joe’s eyes seemed also to almost be popping from their sockets. They were wondering if two of their friends had snapped, but Patrick knew immediately what was wrong.

“Mr Sandman!”

Sandman offered a bow and his widest grin before losing it almost immediately as Patrick turned and headed swiftly for the door.

“No!” he cried stretching out an arm and concentrating briefly on the door.

Patrick pulled up sharply as a giant snake appeared in front of him, blocking his path. The reptile must have been easily sixty feet long and the thickness of a man’s leg. Largely coiled, the snake’s head bobbed lightly as it took in the room’s occupants, hissing as any of them made any movements at all.

“It won’t attack you,” Sandman promised. “Well… so long as none of you try to escape.”  
“Escape?” Joe turned a disbelieving expression towards Pete, the very movement of which caused the snake to dart towards him.  
“Joe!” Andy cried in surprise as the snake coiled itself tightly around the guitarist and lunged at him, its fangs high and dripping with venom.

Closing his eyes tightly as the coils of the snake pinned his arms and legs, Joe tensed waiting for the moment that he would be bitten by the giant reptile. Seconds went by and nothing happened.

“Joe?” Andy’s voice piped up, shaken and nervous.

Looking down, Joe saw that the equally implausible sight of a garden hose had replaced the terrifying snake. Still tightly wrapped in its coils, Joe was reliant on Andy to help free him. Once again, Patrick bolted for the door. This time instead of blocking his path, Sandman moved the door. Every time Patrick reached it, the door would appear to shift a few feet, sometimes to the left or right, sometimes it would appear high on the ceiling – anywhere, just as long as it was out of reach.

“Let us out!” Patrick demanded, frustrated by what he saw as Mr Sandman’s games.  
“You’ve listened to him, now listen to me! You at least owe me the same courtesy!”  
“What have you done with Pete?” Patrick demanded.  
“I haven’t done anything with him! He’s fine, he’s with Donnie!” he replied oblivious to the problems Pete was encountering. “Please, just let me give you my side!”

Almost free of the hose, Joe was confused still further to find it suddenly disappear. Sharing an unsettled glance with Andy, Joe turned to look at Patrick now standing right next to the door. He even managed to grip the handle before turning his head to face Mr Sandman. It would be best to hear both sides, even though he strongly suspected that it would only end in confusing the issue further.

“You have fifteen minutes,” Patrick warned.

Sandman smiled. As far as he was concerned, his was an open and shut case. Fifteen minutes would be more than enough.

“I don’t need that long,” Sandman leaned back against the amps once more. “It’s really straightforward. He’s trying to kill me and destroy my world. You can’t help him do that!”  
“Oh, and that you’re trying to destroy his world and maybe even ours too doesn’t…”  
“What!”  
“Shut up!”

All eyes turned to Joe.

“Just for a minute will you shut up about whatever the hell you’re talking about and tell us what’s going on here!”

Mr Sandman rolled his eyes as both Joe and Andy stared incredulous at them.

“He just told you!” he snapped. “Well a version, anyway.”  
“What do you mean, a version?” Patrick yelled back.  
“You’re telling us… you’re not Pete?” Joe asked trying hard to understand with so little information or experience.  
“I’m Mr Sandman.” Despite the fact that he had used some basic dream tricks on them earlier, they still wanted to believe he was Pete. It was, both understandable and ridiculous, but he replied trying hard not to sound condescending. Benzedrine had got to Patrick first, he had the advantage over him, but the other two, perhaps he could bring around to his sympathies? “Dr Benzedrine is trying to kill me, he’s trying to get you to agree to help him.”  
“And with good reason,” Patrick added, still angry at Sandman’s attempts to frighten and confine them.

Sandman turned horrified eyes towards Patrick. Edging his expression with sadness, he played on his appearance, knowing that Pete and Patrick were friends. He almost grinned as Patrick’s face softened under the familiar stare.

“He lied to you, Patrick.”  
“How do you know? You don’t even know what he told me.”  
“If you believe I want to destroy your world, I know he lied to you.”

The words were spoken with such sincerity that Patrick was instantly thrown into turmoil. Sandman’s behaviour had only seemed to reinforce what Benzedrine had said up until now. His last statement was making Patrick doubt everything and even recall the thinly veiled threats Benzedrine had uttered.

“Give me your version,” Patrick asked, taking a seat near the door.

Mr Sandman licked his lips. It was vital that he kept calm and expressed himself well. He had been given one chance to bring them over to his side. He had to get it right.

“Okay, I’ll go right back to how it used to be,” Sandman promised as he took a seat and set the scene.

“I come from a world called Carousel. One of the districts is The Dream World. It’s mine and I love it. We do exactly what you’d think. We build dreams. Sometimes they’re general dreams that anyone can use and dip into whenever they need to and yes, some are nightmares, but people need those too! Without the bad, how can you appreciate the good? Eventually, some hundred years or so ago, we started making bespoke dreams. Individually tailored to people’s needs and lives. That’s when we got involved with The Hills. I… I didn’t think it was a bad idea at the time… it seemed a perfectly natural thing to do. We would weave the dreams and they would help them become reality. Before it had always been fanciful stuff for sleeping, but then it took on a life of its own. We were helping people achieve what they really wanted. It was magical… and… it actually was magical!”  
“Then what?” Patrick prompted.

Mr Sandman smiled thinly. Patrick was becoming involved in the story, perhaps he would accept it and see Benzedrine in another light?

“Then? Then it all started to go sour. The Dream World is all about hopes, dreams, wishes, fate and luck. The Hills… well they started out idealistic, sure, but they soon became more interested in power, greed, suspicion, fear and excess. Then they found out that the sort of dreams they were interested in were being cultivated in this world. They found a way that they could take them directly from here and grow them themselves. But growing dreams is skill, all my weavers have a millennia of experience…” Sandman shook his head. “They… they didn’t know what they were doing and the results were disastrous. The dreams twisted into living nightmares and infected the whole district. The man that runs The Hills, The Guv’nor… he isn’t even real. He was a dream that went badly wrong. He gained power, absorbing other dreams, growing like a virus. Before long, he had all the power he needed and he took over from The Ringmaster. In the last fifty years, he’s all but destroyed The Hills. Almost all the inhabitants are grotesque caricatures of themselves, what was once a beautiful place… well, it doesn’t even recognise what real beauty is any more, and the rivers are as toxic as their minds.”

The room stood in silence for a few moments, only to be broken this time by Andy. Combining the two tales he had heard that afternoon, he posed the question they all now wanted to know.

“What do they want with The Dream World?”  
“Firstly, they want to destroy us,” Sandman allowed himself a deep sigh. “We exist only for dreams, it’s all we do… but we do it well!” he added emphatically. “If they prevent sleep, there’ll be no more dreams, they’ll destroy us, we just won’t exist any more.”  
“He told me that you were trying to lock everyone in a permanent nightmare,” Patrick finally admitted.  
“No!” Sandman’s expression was one of horror. “It’s the other way around! He’s trying to stop sleep. Can you imagine what that would be like?”  
“I think I’d go insane!” Joe admitted.  
Sandman nodded enthusiastically. “You would! Then can you imagine the sort of dreams they’d be able to take from you once they allowed you to sleep again? I can stop them and I should have done it years ago… now they know I’m a threat to them and they’re trying to kill me.”

Patrick turned the business card given to him by Dr Benzedrine in his fingers. Reading it again seemed to give it an entirely different slant.

_Doctor Silas P Benzedrine – Purveyor of natural stimulants to aid wakefulness and alertness_

“And Dr Benzedrine?” he asked. “He’s the one that’ll keep people awake?”  
Sandman nodded. “He’s been hired by The Guv’nor to come here and get you to help him.”  
“Help him… how? What could we possibly do?”  
“He’s a doctor, not just medicine,” Sandman explained. “My sources tell me that he’s developed a sort of hypnotic device. If played at the right frequency, it will bypass the brain’s sleep response. You physically won’t want to sleep and won’t be able to even if you tried. He needs you to help him get it out onto the airwaves.”  
“But you can stop him?” Patrick asked.  
“I think so.”


	5. Sandman gets desperate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donnie has to report the bad news to Mr Sandman

Pete sighed heavily as he slumped back against the ceramic wall of the cookie jar. He had dried off from his soaking inside the glass when the photographer had re-captured him but the man’s promise to place him somewhere secure hadn’t been an idle threat. But for a few crumbs, the jar was empty and over twice his current height. Even if the stopper wasn’t firmly lodged in the top of the jar, he couldn’t have reached the opening. Drawing his knees up to his chest, Pete reached out for a crumb. The smallest he could find was the size of his fist, but he hadn’t eaten in ages. Beyond the walls of the jar, he heard voices.

“Sir!” the Photographer cried as he stood quickly, pushing his seat back causing it to fall clattering to the floor.  
“Edward,” a gruff, gravelly voice boomed. “You said you have something special for me.”  
“Yes, Sir, I have something… very special.”

Pete threw his arms back against the side of the jar to steady himself as he felt it lifted sharply and carried to another location.

“A cookie?” the gruff voice asked irritably.  
“No, Sir,” Edward, the photographer replied somewhat flustered. “He escaped from the photograph, I put him in here for safe-keeping.”  
“He?” the man sounded curious. “Who do you have?”  
“None other than Mr Sandman,” Edward replied proudly.

Pete squinted as the light flooded into the jar. Scrambling to his feet, he looked up at the man peering inside. He was The Guv’nor, ruler of The Hills and Editor of the district’s two rival magazines – Popular and America’s Suitehearts. He looked like a stereotypical gangster and an angry one at that. His jutting lantern jaw, vicious sneer and impossibly broad shoulders together with the photographer’s reaction when he entered all told Pete that this man was someone to be feared.

“You captured Mr Sandman?” The Guv’nor mused. “Why is he wearing those strange clothes?”  
“He was trespassing in The Hills, Sir, probably trying to go unnoticed.”  
“Without shoes?” he asked raising an eyebrow.  
“Sir?” Edward gasped.  
“This is no more Mr Sandman than you are!”

Pete looked up nervously; he had no idea what to say for the best, if anything. What would keep him alive? That’s what it really came down to. Pressing himself back against the ceramic wall, Pete gasped in surprise and fear as a large rough hand reached inside the jar. Despite his best efforts to evade the gasping fingers, finally the big hand pinned him and he was pulled into a firm grip. Leaning forward to avoid hitting his head on the way out of the jar, Pete pushed and punched with his free arm.

“Would you like me to let go?” The Guv’nor laughed unpleasantly. “Right here? Right now?”

Pete glanced down. The Guv’nor held him up to his face. Pete could smell the fetid stench of old cigars and whisky on his breath and wanted very much for him to let him go, but a brief look down revealed the dizzying height he was held at. Instantly calming at the sight of the distance he would fall, surely a fatal drop, Pete stopped struggling.

“Now then,” he demanded, “who are you?”

Looking up, Pete didn’t know what to say. Insist he was Mr Sandman in the hope that he needed him for something or just simply tell the truth. Either way things seemed really bad for him.

“If you’re not going to talk,” The Guv’nor shook his head, “I can make you talk.”

Pulling what looked like a gun from a holster inside his jacket, The Guv’nor sneered at the terrified look on Pete’s face and the ill-advised but involuntary struggles from him. From the barrel of the gun Pete could see a viscous lime-green fluid; so luminous it almost glowed. Hearing a sharp intake of breath from Edward the photographer, he realised immediately that this could not be good. Leaning back in the Editor’s grip Pete tried hard to avoid the gun as it was held closer and closer to him, the green fluid almost burning him without even touching him.

“Pete!” he shouted finally. “My name’s Pete!”

Lowering the gun, to Pete’s relief, The Guv’nor’s mouth extended into an unpleasant smirk.

“Well, Pete,” he nodded. “You may not be what Edward here intended to get for me, but you will be surprisingly useful. If I know Mr Sandman, he’s as good as mine already.”

Pete frowned nervously; he wasn’t convinced. Mr Sandman’s words to him suggesting that he should try not to be killed didn’t make him sound the rescuing type, let alone the sort who would give up his own freedom for another. 

Re-holstering the gun, The Guv’nor turned a cruel sneer back to Pete before raising his right hand close by. 

“Has he mentioned the ‘L’ word at all?”  
“No, Sir,” Edward finally smiled again on seeing that The Editor was happy with his new captive.  
“Good,” he nodded to himself. “Get ready to download him, I want him ready to go within the hour.”

Download? Pete looked nervously from one giant to the other. Still clutched in The Guv’nor’s hand, whatever downloading was, there seemed little he could do about it. And what did he mean by the ‘L’ word?

“Scared, Pete?” The Guv’nor chuckled slyly. “Don’t worry, you won’t know a thing about it.”

Flicking his finger sharply out from behind his thumb, The Guv’nor allowed it to connect sharply with Pete’s head. Briefly aware of the explosion of pain, it was only moments later that Pete slumped in The Guv’nor’s hand before sinking into oblivion.

*

“I need to know,” Sandman looked at Patrick, “where is Dr Benzedrine now?”  
“Outside,” Patrick gestured over his shoulder.  
“He’s here!” Sandman ‘s jaw dropped in astonishment. “I told you to lose him!”  
“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get rid of him?” Patrick snapped back irritably. He had viewed it as a major achievement just convincing Benzedrine to let him go to the studio.  
“Oh, yes,” Sandman growled. “That, I know!”

Drumming his fingers against the amp, Mr Sandman looked deep in thought. Andy, Joe and Patrick exchange glances and shrugs. The two stories were so different from each other that none of them knew what, or more crucially, who to believe. 

“What’s he doing?” Sandman finally asked.  
“I don’t know,” Patrick gave a shrug. “No one can see him, except me, so I guess he’s just keeping himself amused.”  
“What do you mean, no one can see him? Of course they can!”  
“But when I was in the cafe, I even asked the waitress, she couldn’t see him, well, she must have done to take his order, but…”  
“Cheesecake?” asked Sandman with a slight smile.  
“Er… yeah,” Patrick nodded. “Does that have anything…?”  
“No, no, not important,” Sandman sighed. “He just can’t seem to resist a slice of cheesecake.”  
“Look, if that’s not important, can we stick to what is?” Patrick took a deep breath, growing more impatient with the strange man who looked so unnervingly like Pete. “You’re saying he can be seen?”  
“Yeah, he’s just pulling a mind trick, he can make you forget you’ve seen him even moments after you have. So people don’t see him just because even as they’re looking at him, they’ve already forgotten.”  
“He mentioned something like that,” Patrick nodded thoughtfully.  
“Did he, now?” Sandman cocked his head to one side. “Okay, so, are you going to help me?”  
“What’s that?” Joe asked pointing to the corner of the room.

All eyes fell on a black shape emerging in the corner. Initially just a thin black line, it began to widen in the middle until finally it grew to roughly six feet in length and three feet wide at the centre.

“What is that?” Joe repeated as no one replied.

Finally turning to face the musicians, Mr Sandman pulled his lips into a thin line as he ushered them back towards the far corner.

“Someone’s coming through, but, I… I don’t know who until they get here. Whoever it is has managed to home in me somehow.”

Backing up, Patrick sighed his frustration as once again the door to the studio was shifted up to the ceiling.

“When I’m done convincing you, then I’ll let you out! Now let me concentrate!” Sandman barked not even bothering to look behind him.  
“If this is dangerous, then…”  
“Shut up!” Sandman screamed waving an arm vaguely in Patrick’s direction. Immediately, the singer was lifted from his feet and slammed against the wall. Lightly dazed, with Andy and Joe rushing to his side, Patrick didn’t immediately notice the strip of tape that had suddenly appeared pressed firmly down over his lips. Gently pulling the tape away from Patrick’s mouth, Joe dropped to one knee to whisper.

“Trick, we gotta get out of here, he’s a psycho!”  
“Joe’s right, Patrick, we have to get out,” Andy added looking around the sealed room. “Somehow.”  
Patrick nodded. “I know, but the other one’s no better. Besides, Mr Sandman’s the only one who knows where Pete is.”

A shape slowly began to emerge from the black void hanging near the back of the studio. Stepping through the gap as casually as walking through an open doorway was a man dressed entirely in green. All three musicians stared silently at the newcomer. Even Patrick who had already met both Mr Sandman and Dr Benzedrine couldn’t contain his surprise at the sight of Andy’s counterpart from the video simply stepping into the room from some sort of black void.

“Donnie?” Sandman lowered his arms and took a much less aggressive stance. “What are you doing here?”

Donnie glanced down briefly and exhaled deeply; how was he going to put this? 

“Where’s Pete?” Sandman asked with concern. “Tell me you got him to The Dream World safely.”

Even as he asked the question, Mr Sandman knew something was wrong and from the guilty expression on Donnie’s face, it was something serious. But the answer would have to wait as Donnie caught sight of the three friends still backed up against the far wall. Within the small group, he saw his own image plus two others that he recognised and gave him immediate pause.

“Mr Sandman!” he cried, his eyes and mouth both open wide with astonishment. “How… I mean… is it…?”  
“No, it’s not,” Sandman uttered a harsh reply, somehow understanding the question. “Where is he?”  
“The photographers have him, they think he’s you.”  
“How The Hills did that happen?” he growled angrily. 

Hearing Donnie’s statement, Patrick was at Mr Sandman’s side in an instant, Joe and Andy still recovering from the surprise of Donnie’s arrival, followed only seconds behind.

“What’s wrong? What’s happened to Pete?” Patrick demanded.

Mr Sandman was beyond frustration. Seething quietly at the news that would have been better presented to him out of earshot of Pete’s three friends, he now had to temper his response with empathy for his counterpart. It wasn’t that he didn’t care what happened to Pete, well, not exactly. It was just really poor timing. The three men had almost accepted his explanation. Benzedrine was outside, possibly causing all manner of havoc and here he was, stuck in the studio having to sympathise when all he wanted to do was scream.

He had to get more information from Donnie, but to do that the others would hear too. He couldn’t let them out, not yet, he wasn’t convinced they were on his side and Benzedrine was right there on the other side of the door waiting to snatch them over to his way of thinking. It was a mess. There was no other word for it.

“How did they get him?” he finally asked.  
“We were on our way to The Dream World, he couldn’t keep up.”  
“Why?”  
“You sent him through without shoes!”  
Mr Sandman rolled his eyes in exasperation. “And?”  
“We were caught half way down the tunnel…”  
“The gate?” he sighed, his shoulders sagging.  
Donnie nodded. “I tried to warn him, but they took his photograph.”

Mr Sandman pushed his fingers into his hair and clenched his fists in frustration. Emitting a small, infuriated scream, he asked his next question.

“Do you know what they’re going to do with him?”  
“They’re taking him to The Guv’nor.”

Mr Sandman turned and flopped down onto one of the amps. Raising his left leg to his chest, he dropped his crossed arms down on his knee and rested his head.

“This is all I need!”  
“What’s going on?” Patrick demanded, almost pulling Sandman off the amp and forcing him to look up.  
“The Guv’nor! The guy I told you about, he’s trying to kill me! He’ll use Pete to get to me, don’t you understand?”

Donnie turned a confused glance at Mr Sandman only to receive a harsh glare in return. Noticing the exchange, Patrick’s eyes narrowed.

“Hang on! What are…?” Patrick began.  
“Donnie, catch him!”

Before Patrick managed another word, Mr Sandman had seized his arm and thrown him through the black void, diving in after him. With astonishing reflexes, Donnie had somehow managed to enter even before Patrick and the black inter-dimensional doorway was already closing. By the time Andy and Joe reached it, it was gone. 

“What the hell happened?” Joe yelled.  
“Patrick worked something out before they took him… but what?” Andy replied, now more confused than ever.  
“There’s only one person we can ask,” Joe sighed.  
“Dr Benzedrine.” Andy shook his head with concern; this was beyond weird.

Grateful that the studio had returned to it’s original layout with the door in it’s right place, allowing them to leave, the pair headed out in search of Patrick’s eccentric counterpart hoping that he would have the answers they needed and above all, that they could trust him.


	6. Welcome to The Dream World!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandman introduced Patrick to the Dream World

By the time Patrick landed, somehow easily and painlessly, in Donnie’s outstretched arms, Mr Sandman was already waiting alongside him, but it simply wasn’t possible. Mr Sandman had followed him into the void, rather than preceding him, and yet here he was, standing, arms folded, waiting. On reflection, despite the sheer impossibility of the situation, it was almost worth ignoring in favour of exploring his new-found suspicions over Mr Sandman’s motives.

Before he had even regained his composure from the long fall, Donnie had tipped him onto unsteady feet and was holding his arms firmly. Patrick stood, frowning deeply; furious by what was happening, yet not even bothering to try to struggle free. What was the point? Where could he go? The surroundings were both eerie and alarming. It was very dark. Dark and if he were honest, quite scary. Perhaps it was just the unfamiliarity that was scary or maybe there really was something to be truly afraid of? 

He found himself standing on a well worn path, ahead and to the right a dense forest, with tall trees reaching as high as he could see and a tangled mass of branches and leaves preventing a view more than a few hundred feet beyond the path in any direction. Occasionally, he was convinced he could see one or more pairs of eyes staring at him from out of the darkness. The forest floor was almost completely obscured by a thick mat of roots, ferns and shrubs. From deep within the forest, strange noises, none of which he wanted to become acquainted with, warned him to keep his distance.

To his left stood a cemetery, grim and bleak with unattended graves and broken or tilting headstones. A permanently rolling mist shimmered over the graves and marble statues, yet despite its motion, it never actually seemed to spread beyond the cemetery gates. Another pair of eyes, this time clearly belonging to an owl, peered at him from high in a crooked leafless tree.

Finally, Patrick turned his attention to Mr Sandman, remarkably, now dressed in his own clothes and smiling at him. It wasn’t an unpleasant smile, nor arrogant or condescending, but Patrick didn’t like it. He knew already that he had been lied to, but by how much? And had Dr Benzedrine also lied to him?

“Welcome to The Dream World!” Sandman announced proudly. “Donnie, you can let him go,” he added quietly. “I think Patrick understands that there’s nowhere for him to go.”

As Donnie released his arms without a word, Patrick responded with an indignant shake, as if marking the end of successfully struggling free. Without even blinking, he continued to glare angrily, quietly fuming at Mr Sandman’s treatment of him, of Pete, of them all.

“So,” Mr Sandman continued. “What do you think?”  
“How much of it was a lie?” Patrick demanded, ignoring Sandman’s question.  
“How much do you think?” Sandman grinned impishly.  
Patrick frowned deeply at the response. “You think it’s funny to play with people’s lives? Which one of you is telling the truth?”  
“What makes you think either of us are? What makes you think we’re lying?” Sandman growled, yet at the same time clearly enjoying seeing Patrick grow increasingly incensed.  
“You can’t both be telling the truth,” Patrick replied flatly. “And I doubt that either of you are.”

Mr Sandman laughed loudly at the statement, not even trying to hide his delight at Patrick’s discomfort.

“Before I brought you here, what were you going to say?”  
“Donnie looked confused when you said The Guv’nor was trying to kill you. I figured that was a lie.”  
Sandman smirked. “Don’t doubt that The Guv’nor would cheerfully see me dead.”  
“Not cheerfully,” Donnie corrected to Sandman’s annoyance.  
“Let’s just say he’s not all that fond of me,” Sandman replied grimly.  
“So, what now?” Patrick asked with a hint of nervousness in his tone. “Are you going to let me go?”  
“No,” Sandman shrugged. “I can’t really do that.”  
“You can’t keep me here!” Patrick insisted, his nervousness growing.  
“There’s no reason why not,” Sandman replied grumpily.  
“No reason?” Patrick gasped at the outrageous statement. “I’ll give you a…”

Without a word, Mr Sandman raised his hand and waved his fingers down over Patrick’s eyes. In the blink of an eye he was once again being caught by Donnie and was on the verge of starting to snore lightly. 

“This isn’t going well. I would say Benzedrine’s got the upper hand right now, Donnie,” Sandman sighed. “We have to stop him.”  
“The others aren’t going to listen to you now, not since you took him,” Donnie nodded down at the sleeping singer.  
Sandman sighed heavily. “I’m going to have to tell the truth, aren’t I?”  
“And hope he believes you,” Donnie nodded.  
“Damn it!” Sandman snapped. “Who’s going to believe the truth?”

*

Pete opened his eyes slowly. He felt deeply nauseous and his head throbbed with a crushingly painful ache. Closing his eyes again without even moving from the position he had woken in, he wished he were still unconscious. Lying still, he took several deep breaths, realising as he did that he was trembling and dizzy. He needed more sleep, whatever had happened to him had been wiped from his memory, he hoped temporarily, and all he knew was that right now he felt disorientated and confused.

“Your breathing’s changed,” a female voice commented. “Are you awake?”  
“No,” Pete slurred groggily just wanting to be left alone and wishing that he had ignored the intrusive question.  
“Here,” the voice spoke again, soft and sympathetic. “Drink this.”

Pete opened his eyes once more and raised his head as much as he was able without stretching too far. He focussed on a slender woman dressed in a tight skirt and skimpy chiffon blouse that left little to the imagination.

“Who are you?” he asked frowning, but admiring her gentle curves.  
“I’m Eleanor, I’m looking after you.”

The answer explained nothing but in his weakened, confused state, he barely noticed. Stretching out, he realised he was lying back on a comfortable bed; the soft cotton sheets only encouraging him to drift off to sleep once more. He would have done but for her insistent voice demanding his attention.

“Do you remember where you are?” she asked sweetly.  
“No.” Frowning thoughtfully for a moment, Pete gave up and sighed, unthreatened and unworried by his lack of memory. “Remind me?” he asked.  
“I’ll get the Guv’nor,” she smiled. “But first, drink this.”

Pushing himself slowly up onto his elbow, Pete stared at the glass and frowned again.

“What is it?” he asked slowly.  
“It’ll make you feel better,” Eleanor promised with a sincere compassionate smile.

With a vague nod of his head, Pete reached out shakily for the glass. Taking a sip, his eyes fluttered in surprise at the sweet, fruity taste that held his undivided attention. Despite his earlier nausea, Pete raised the glass to his lips once more and tipped it up, draining the contents in seconds. The exquisite flavour focussing all his thoughts and energies, Pete was oblivious to all sights and sounds.

“Tell me,” Eleanor began, “do you remember who you are?”  
“No,” Pete replied distractedly, sighing happily, his mind still firmly fixed on the drink.  
“Not at all?” she pressed.  
“Do I need to know?” he asked almost irritably as she pressed the question.  
“No,” she smiled, satisfied with his response as he pressed his shoulders down into the comfort of the bed once more. “No, it’s not important. I’ll get The Guv’nor. He wants to speak to you.”

Pete gave a vague, lazy nod as she went in search of The Guv’nor, whoever he was. Relaxing further, nothing felt important to Pete, nothing except the extreme comfort of the bed and the pleasant fuzzy feeling that now washed over him, relieving him of all his pain.


	7. Bait!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe and Andy try to locate Pete and Patrick and The Guv'nor has plans for Pete

“Dr Benzedrine?” Joe asked as he approached the very image of Patrick dressed entirely in yellow.

Turning, Benzedrine’s eyes opened wide as he saw Joe. Taking a step back to steady himself, his glance darted from Joe to Andy and back.

“H…how…?” he stammered. “Donnie! How did you bring… no, this can’t be real.”

Joe frowned; Benzedrine was terrified of him. There was suddenly another opportunity open to them. Thinking back to the video, Joe tried his luck… literally.

“You have a problem with me?” he asked, trying hard not to sound as foolish as he felt.  
“I… I’m sorry,” Benzedrine replied, unable to look him in the eyes. “I had no intention of showing you any disrespect, Sir. I was taken by surprise, it isn’t everyday that…”  
“Mr Sandman has taken two people back to Carousel, one of them has been taken to The Guv’nor,” Joe explained sternly.”  
“Two people?” Benzedrine frowned. “Who?”

Joe narrowed his eyes; did Benzedrine really not know anything about it? Not even about Pete?

“I’m sorry!” Benzedrine gasped. “Do you know who, Sir?” he corrected himself.

If it weren’t for the seriousness of the situation, Joe would have laughed at the situation. This man who looked so much like Patrick calling him ‘Sir’ was truly odd.

“He’s taken Patrick and his friend Pete, I want you to bring them back,” he ordered.  
“But, Sir…” Benzedrine began only to sigh and nod. “Then he’s won,” he added miserably.  
“If you’re successful, I may reward you, with whatever you want.” Joe replied, getting into character easier now.  
“Reward?” Benzedrine’s head snapped up eagerly. “Yes, Sir!” Benzedrine replied enthusiastically. “Consider them back here!”

Turning, Benzedrine drew a line in the air with his finger, which again widened into a black void wide and long enough for him to step through. In a moment he was gone, leaving Joe and Andy to wonder if they had done the right thing.

“Of course,” began Andy, “if he was lying to us, we just lost our only link to them.”

*

“You’re awake?”

Pete reluctantly opened his eyes and looked up; before him stood a tall man with a square jaw and extraordinarily wide shoulders. Pete merely stared blankly at him, neither recognising him as the man who had bought him from The Photographer nor realising that he was now his normal height again. His memory was almost wiped clean, not knowing where or even who he was, but strangest of all was that this fact didn’t trouble him in the slightest. He seemed perfectly happy to wait to be given more information.

“How are you feeling?” The Guv’nor asked.  
“Sleepy,” Pete replied with a yawn as he rested his head back down on the pillow.  
“Yes,” The Guv’nor chuckled lightly. “I’m afraid that’s the bed’s doing. Mr Sandman gave this to me, it’s impossible to concentrate on anything while lying on it and nobody wants to leave it once comfortable. Essentially, it’s the most effective prison I have. You would be happy to lie there for the rest of your life and not care otherwise.”  
“Mmmm,” Pete replied, distracted by the soft pillow gently caressing his cheek.  
“You don’t even care that you’re a prisoner, do you?”  
“No,” Pete sighed, “not really.”  
“Get up!”

Pete stared up and frowned deeply. Leave the bed? Really? Did he have to? The man was now staring down at him harshly. Pete closed his eyes; the bed was too comfortable to worry about anything else. His eyes were closed for a second or two only before he felt a big hand take a firm grip on his right wrist and drag him from the bed.

“Huh!” Pete’s eyes shot open, his free hand scrabbling at the sheets to try to hold on. “No! Let go!”

Within moments he lay on the floor at the side of the bed. Looking up he saw The Guv’nor, taking in the fact he was leaning over him for the first time. Scrambling backwards, Pete found himself pressed up against the wall. To his left, the bed, to his right another wall, he was trapped, there was nowhere he could go.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “Where am I? Why am I here?”  
“You remember who you are now?” The Guv’nor asked, although from Pete’s reaction, being released from the bed was sufficient to return all his memories to him.  
“Of course I know who I am!” Pete snapped.  
“Good, we can talk.”

Offering a hand down to Pete, who reluctantly took it, The Guv’nor helped the young man to his feet.

“Please, take a seat,” he waved a hand to indicate the table and chairs near the window.

Silently and still uncertain, Pete took a seat, making sure he chose a seat on the outer edge of the table so that he couldn’t get blocked in. He waited expectantly as The Guv’nor sat opposite him.

“My name is Lord Joshua, I rule here in The Hills, I have done for… well, longer than you can imagine. I have two sons, you’ve met one of them, Mr Sandman. The other, I’m sure you’ve realised by now is Dr Benzedrine. It was perhaps my own fault for giving them jobs that complemented each other. They became quite competitive as they grew up but they’re both so very different from each other. Dr Benzedrine is quite self-sufficient and reliable, I can trust him with anything and know it’ll get done. Mr Sandman is…” The Guv’nor sighed. “He’s a handful. He’s several hundred years older than Dr Benzedrine…”  
“Several hundred?” Pete gasped.  
“I told you, longer than you can imagine.” The Guv’nor explained. “So, as a result he got used to having attention showered on him as a boy. Now, as a man, he can be quite… needy and jealous. Over the centuries, he’s managed to believe that I favour Dr Benzedrine and while he gives me less trouble and I rely on him more, I love them equally.”

Pete felt he knew where this was going. Sibling rivalry had spiralled out of control. Not only were they at each other’s throats, but their powers meant that they could affect other worlds.

“Mr Sandman went to your world after seeing you. Both of them believe the other to be out to destroy their world, but it isn't true. They've merely been led to believe that.”  
"Led to believe?" Pete frowned.  
"It was supposed to encourage a diplomatic negotiation. I thought I could rely on Dr Benzedrine to initiate that and for Mr Sandman to fall in line when pressed. However, I think they've both pushed each other too far and this was the last straw."  
"So..." Pete hesitated, uncertain how this might be received. "You caused this?"  
"No," Joshua, The Guv'nor, replied sternly and more than a little threatening. "They caused this."  
“What do you want with me?” Pete asked deciding to keep his opinions to a minimum.  
“You can help me get them back.”  
“How?” Pete asked nervously.  
“Bait,” he explained simply.  
“Bait!” Pete exclaimed, pushing back in his chair.  
“It would be easier if you’ll agree, but if you don’t, I can force you,” The Guv’nor sighed.  
“It’s not as if you’ve given me a choice then.”  
“Your choice is to be willing or unwilling. Either way, you will help me.”

Pete sat back in his chair. If he helped him, then the problem would go away for him and Patrick too. He just didn’t like the sound of the word ‘bait’, it sounded dangerous.

*

“Dr Benzedrine?” Joe asked as he approached the very image of Patrick dressed entirely in yellow.

Turning, Benzedrine’s eyes opened wide as he saw Joe. Taking a step back to steady himself, his glance darted from Joe to Andy and back.

“H…how…?” he stammered. “Donnie! How did you bring… no, this can’t be real.”

Joe frowned; Benzedrine was terrified of him. There was suddenly another opportunity open to them. Thinking back to the video, Joe tried his luck… literally.

“You have a problem with luck?” he asked, trying hard not to sound as foolish as he felt.  
“I… I’m sorry,” Benzedrine replied, unable to look him in the eyes. “I had no intention of showing you any disrespect, Sir. I was taken by surprise, it isn’t everyday that…”  
“Mr Sandman has taken two people back to Carousel, one of them has been taken to The Guv’nor,” Joe explained sternly.”  
“Two people?” Benzedrine frowned. “Who?”

Joe narrowed his eyes; did Benzedrine really not know anything about it? Not even about Pete?

“I’m sorry!” Benzedrine gasped. “Do you know who, Sir?” he corrected himself.

If it weren’t for the seriousness of the situation, Joe would have laughed at the situation. This man who looked so much like Patrick calling him ‘Sir’ was truly odd.

“He’s taken Patrick and his friend Pete, I want you to bring them back,” he ordered.  
“But, Sir…” Benzedrine began only to sigh and nod. “Then he’s won,” he added miserably.  
“If you’re successful, I may reward you,” Joe replied, getting into character easier now.  
“Reward?” Benzedrine’s head snapped up eagerly.  
“With a little luck,” Joe replied sternly but ending with a slight smile.  
“Yes, Sir!” Benzedrine replied enthusiastically. “Consider them back here!”

Turning, Benzedrine drew a line in the air with his finger, which again widened into a black void wide and long enough for him to step through. In a moment he was gone, leaving Joe and Andy to wonder if they had done the right thing.

“Of course,” began Andy, “if he was lying to us, we just lost our only link to them.”

*

“You’re awake?”

Pete reluctantly opened his eyes and looked up; before him stood a tall man with a square jaw and extraordinarily wide shoulders. Pete merely stared blankly at him, neither recognising him as the man who had bought him from The Photographer nor realising that he was now his normal height again. His memory was almost wiped clean, not knowing where or even who he was, but strangest of all was that this fact didn’t trouble him in the slightest. He seemed perfectly happy to wait to be given more information.

“How are you feeling?” The Guv’nor asked.  
“Sleepy,” Pete replied with a yawn as he rested his head back down on the pillow.  
“Yes,” The Guv’nor chuckled lightly. “I’m afraid that’s the bed’s doing. Mr Sandman gave this to me, it’s impossible to concentrate on anything while lying on it and nobody wants to leave it once comfortable. Essentially, it’s the most effective prison I have. You would be happy to lie there for the rest of your life and not care otherwise.”  
“Mmmm,” Pete replied, distracted by the soft pillow gently caressing his cheek.  
“You don’t even care that you’re a prisoner, do you?”  
“No,” Pete sighed, “not really.”  
“Get up!”

Pete stared up and frowned deeply. Leave the bed? Really? Did he have to? The man was now staring down at him harshly. Pete closed his eyes; the bed was too comfortable to worry about anything else. His eyes were closed for a second or two only before he felt a big hand take a firm grip on his right wrist and drag him from the bed.

“Huh!” Pete’s eyes shot open, his free hand scrabbling at the sheets to try to hold on. “No! Let go!”

Within moments he lay on the floor at the side of the bed. Looking up he saw The Guv’nor, taking in the fact he was leaning over him for the first time. Scrambling backwards, Pete found himself pressed up against the wall. To his left, the bed, to his right another wall, he was trapped, there was nowhere he could go.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “Where am I? Why am I here?”  
“You remember who you are now?” The Guv’nor asked, although from Pete’s reaction, being released from the bed was sufficient to return all his memories to him.  
“Of course I know who I am!” Pete snapped.  
“Good, we can talk.”

Offering a hand down to Pete, who reluctantly took it, The Guv’nor helped the young man to his feet.

“Please, take a seat,” he waved a hand to indicate the table and chairs near the window.

Silently and still uncertain, Pete took a seat, making sure he chose a seat on the outer edge of the table so that he couldn’t get blocked in. He waited expectantly as The Guv’nor sat opposite him.

“I rule here in The Hills, I have done for… well, longer than you can imagine. I have two sons, you’ve met one of them, Mr Sandman. The other, I’m sure you’ve realised by now is Dr Benzedrine. It was perhaps my own fault for giving them jobs that complemented each other. They became quite competitive as they grew up but they’re both so very different from each other. Dr Benzedrine is quite self-sufficient and reliable, I can trust him with anything and know it’ll get done. Mr Sandman is…” The Guv’nor sighed. “He’s a handful. He’s several hundred years older than Dr Benzedrine…”  
“Several hundred?” Pete gasped.  
“I told you, longer than you can imagine.” The Guv’nor explained. “So, as a result he got used to having attention showered on him as a boy. Now, as a man, he can be quite… needy and jealous. Over the centuries, he’s managed to believe that I favour Dr Benzedrine and while he gives me less trouble and I rely on him more, I love them equally.”

Pete felt he knew where this was going. Sibling rivalry had spiralled out of control. Not only were they at each other’s throats, but their powers meant that they could affect other worlds.

“Mr Sandman went to your world after seeing you. I assumed that he thought he could cause some mischief. I sent Dr Benzedrine to try to bring Mr Sandman back, but I fear that even the usually placid Dr Benzedrine has had enough of him and set out to destroy him. Now I find that Mr Sandman’s real intention was also to attack his brother and by sending Dr Benzedrine after him all I’ve done is fuelled the fire.”  
“What do you want with me?” Pete asked  
“You can help me get them back.”  
“How?” Pete asked nervously.  
“Bait,” he explained simply.  
“Bait!” Pete exclaimed, pushing back in his chair.  
“It would be easier if you’ll agree, but if you don’t, I can force you,” The Guv’nor sighed.  
“It’s not as if you’ve given me a choice then.”  
“Your choice is to be willing or unwilling. Either way, you will help me.”

Pete sat back in his chair. If he helped him, then the problem would go away for him and Patrick too. He just didn’t like the sound of the word ‘bait’, it sounded dangerous.


	8. Dr Benzedrine Goes to the Dream World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr Benzedrine goes in search of Pete and Patrick in the Dream World while Pete is being forced to do something to draw out Mr Sandman

Standing at the tunnel mouth, Dr Benzedrine looked from left to right. It had been centuries since he'd last ventured into the Dream World but nothing seemed to have changed, except possibly it was a little darker than he remembered. It wasn't his area of expertise, but he knew it wasn't necessary for dreams to be created at night and, as such, he had often wondered why Mr Sandman insisted upon keeping the Dream World in a permanent state of darkness. Perhaps it suited his style, perhaps he had a flair for the melodramatic or perhaps he had simply gone insane? To Dr Benzedrine, it seemed all too likely and was the only way to explain Mr Sandman's bizarre make up.

Looking behind him, down the long tunnel to The Hills, he couldn't even see his beloved home district; the colourful buildings and fairground-style gaudiness were far from view. Already, even without taking another step, he was homesick and more than a little nervous. Yes, he was endowed with certain powers, some of which Patrick had experienced during his encounter with him, but here in the Dream World, he had none. Likewise, in The Hills, Mr Sandman's dreams and illusions were ineffective. It had been a precaution designed to keep them apart. Without use of their powers, neither was likely to enter the other's district for fear that they couldn't protect themselves against the other.

A competitive edge had started between the two brothers in boyhood. Back then it had been healthy rivalry, but had quickly grown into something more sinister. As men, the constant feuding and fighting had given rise to the pair needing to be separated for their own safety. The necessary but unpleasant task was reluctantly undertaken by their father, ruler of The Hills, known to most as The Guv'nor, but to his wife, Eleanor, as Joshua.

The Guv'nor had tried to make the best of a bad situation by giving them jobs that required them to work in a complementary way, one sending the world to sleep and the other waking it. It had seemed the ideal solution; they would not be in each other's way or need to compete on any level. But such was their deep mistrust of each other, they found different things to argue over. The main cause of their fighting had become their father. Joshua had decided to grant the position of Mr Sandman to his eldest son. It would require taking control of the Dream World and organising a battery of dream weavers and spinners. The position should have been considered a declaration of trust, an honour, but Marcus J Sandman, as he became, saw it only as banishment from his father's side. The fact that Silas P Benzedrine, the favourite son, the son he had never been, had been kept close by in The Hills and had studied to become a doctor like their father only seemed to confirm his suspicions. Jealous and bitter, Mr Sandman had hidden himself away in the Dream World. The dreams he personally weaved grew ever more outlandish over the decades until he found a way to affect the real world finally making a connection with his real-life counterpart, Pete Wentz; spinning dreams for him that would eventually become lyrics.

Now, Dr Benzedrine stood at the entrance to the Dream World knowing only that his brother had taken both Patrick and someone called Pete. He had to find them. If he rescued them, Mr H Shoe Crab, The Luckiest Man In The World would reward him with some luck of his own. It was the sort of thing you only dreamed about. Nobody ever met Mr Crab; it was forbidden to even use the `L' word and yet, not only had he seen him, he had spoken to him, he had promised him some luck. A dream come true! What was his dream? He wanted, more than anything, if it were even remotely possible, a good relationship with his brother. He sighed heavily as he thought about it. He had been pushed to the limit, his patience stretched to the point that all he wanted was to be rid of his brother. But if the option were there, what he really wanted was for the situation to be resolved. With luck, he could have that.  
With grim determination, Benzedrine set out down the dark path.

*

“What do you need me to do?” Pete asked flatly.  
“You're willing to help?” The Guv'nor asked with some surprise.  
Pete leaned forward on the table, his hands clasped together and his eyes firmly fixed on his fingers, staring intently as if they may do something exciting at any moment.  
“It's in my own interests to help you, well, sort of,” Pete paused. “I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm a little worried about the word `bait', but there's not much I can do, is there? You can make me do whatever you want, I might as well do it willingly. At least then I've got a certain amount of freedom.”  
“You get your words confused,” The Guv'nor commented. “You mean free will, not freedom.”  
Pete took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He felt deflated and miserable; this man certainly knew how to crush him.  
“Just tell me one thing,” Pete began. “When you've got them back, will you let me go? And I don't just mean, don't keep me here, I mean go back home.”  
“Yes, I will aid your return, you and your friend, Patrick,” The Guv'nor replied kindly.  
“Patrick?” Pete's eyes widened. “He's here? How? When? Where?”  
“He's in Carousel,” The Guv'nor waved his hands in an attempt to calm Pete's reaction to the news. “He's not in The Hills.”  
“Well, where?” Pete pressed.  
“Mr Sandman has him in the Dream World, I understand he's being looked after.”  
“And you'll get us both back home?”  
“Yes, I promise,” The Guv'nor replied sincerely. “Provided I get what I want.”  
“Your sons,” Pete nodded thoughtfully. “What do you need from me?”  
“My Aide will take you for a press conference, you will pretend to be Mr Sandman, it will get his attention.”  
“What do I say?” Pete asked concerned.  
“I have it all written out, just follow the script.”  
“What if they ask something unexpected?”  
“They won't,” The Guv'nor smiled. “It's for one of my magazines. It's all scripted.”  
“Okay.”

Pete exhaled deeply, turning to see The Guv'nor's Aide standing in the doorway signalling to him. Turning, Pete followed him out leaving The Guv'nor and his wife Eleanor alone in the room. Gently placing an arm around her slender waist, The Guv'nor sighed wistfully.

“The boys will be home soon, my dear, I promise.”

*

The room was large and already buzzing with activity. Far too much, Pete was sure, than was strictly necessary for a simple magazine interview. While people were setting up lighting, microphones and recording equipment nearby, Pete took a seat at the table indicated by the Aide and glanced over the script handed to him.

“So, how is this going to work?” Pete asked, looking up once more.  
“They ask the questions and you answer,” the Aide replied with a puzzled tone. “What don’t you understand about that?”

Pete looked up with a frown; he didn’t like the man’s attitude or haughty tone. Pete’s question was a simple enough one, after all, this was for a magazine, they had the replies written, why did he actually have to give the interview? Once the words were in print, did it really matter if he had said them?

“Look,” Pete wanted clarification. “Why do you need me here if you already have the replies?”  
“Are you serious?” the Aide stopped organising the ever-growing numbers in the room and turned a suspicious eye to Pete. “Have you never done an interview before?”  
“This is for a magazine!” Pete protested. “It’s not as though you’re filming...”

Pete tapered off as he saw large TV cameras being wheeled into the room.

“You’re filming? For a magazine?” Pete asked, incredulous.

The Aide shook his head, a look of disgust clear on his face.

“You _Normal-Worlders_ are so deluded! You think if something doesn’t work in your world that it can’t happen anywhere. Deluded!”  
“I don’t like your attitude!” Pete growled angrily.  
“The moment I care, I’ll let you know,” the Aide returned with a withering expression.  
“I’m trying to help your boss,” Pete reminded him.  
“Under duress,” the Aide corrected him. “Now, in answer to your pathetic lack of understanding, yes, we have filmed interviews in our magazines and this will be a Carousel exclusive - an interview with Mr Sandman. Make it convincing! Now, you’ve just got time to get changed.”  
“Changed?” Pete’s head snapped up.  
“Of course, you can’t convince anyone that you’re Mr Sandman dressed in those ridiculous clothes!”

Pete slammed his hands down onto the table and jumped to his feet.

“The only reason I’m here is because somebody did think I was Mr Sandman! And these clothes are not ridiculous! They’re a damn sight more normal than whatever you’ll have me wearing!”  
“You’ll wear whatever I tell you to wear and you’ll say whatever I tell you to say. Do you understand me?”  
“Or what?” Pete growled.

The Aide raised his hand almost in a blur of movement and lightly touched Pete on the forehead. Whilst still standing, Pete’s head flopped back, his eyes closed for a few moments. On looking up again, he was severely subdued, almost trance-like.

“Get changed,” the Aide ordered, watching in satisfaction as Pete silently complied. “He told you we could force you.”

*

The path had taken him directly through the forest, but he didn’t remember this route from his last visit. Dr Benzedrine lowered his eyes as he thought about his last visit with sadness. He had been much younger and, he recalled with a tightness in his throat, that he had loved his brother then. The feeling didn’t seem to be mutual even all that time ago and they had both quarrelled bitterly. He knew, to his shame, he had said things, hurtful things that he truly wished he could take back, but it was far too late for that now. In reality, it was probably far too late even at the time.

_“So,” Benzedrine looked around with a half-smile forming on his usually stern face. “Are you going to give me the tour of your kingdom?”_  
_“My what?” Mr Sandman asked sourly._  
_“Your kingdom,” Benzedrine waved his arms lightly to indicate their surroundings. “This is all yours now.”_  
_“For my sins,” Sandman grumbled._  
_“For your dreams,” Benzedrine corrected._  
_“What do you know about my dreams?” Sandman snapped, moving towards his younger brother with a distinctly malicious scowl. “What can you possibly know about my dreams? Have you ever asked? Has anyone?”_  
_“What are you talking about?” Benzedrine took a defensive step back. “This is an honour!”_  
_“An honour?” Sandman yelled, ridiculing the idea. “This is a prison!”_  
_“What’s the matter with you? Can’t you see this for what it is?” Benzedrine shouted back, growing angrier with his brother._  
_“Yes, I can see exactly what this is and very possibly your part in it too!”_  
_“My part?” Benzedrine pointed to himself as he stared in astonishment. “Don’t you realise what…”_  
_“I know exactly what you’ve done and why you’ve done it! The only thing I’m not sure about is how. Got him wrapped around your little finger haven’t you, Silas! Look at you! Quite literally the Golden Child. Well, I have a few tricks up my sleeve too. It may take me longer, but I’ll make you pay for getting me sent here!”_  
_“Getting you sent here?” Benzedrine snapped. “You’re crazy, you know that!”_  
_“Not so crazy that I can’t see that you’ve convinced our father to get rid of me!”_  
_“My mistake! You’re completely insane!”_  
_“Really? And While I’m stuck here, where will you be?”_  
_“Me?” Benzedrine began, his tone edged with sadness. “I’ll be at home, going nowhere, waking people up; dragging them from their fantasy worlds and comfort. Are you jealous yet?”_  
_“You’ll be next to our father, mixing memory drugs so he forgets me entirely!”_  
_“Everything’s got to be about you, hasn’t it? Why can’t you, just for once, even listen to someone else? I mean actually listen and hear them! No, you’re too busy being the selfish, spoiled brat that you are!”_  
_“I had him all to myself for the first few hundred years, then you came along, their pride and joy! All dressed up in gold! That was it then… you were…” Sandman trailed off momentarily before adding miserably. “You want him to yourself now? Sure, why not? Just go.”_  
_“Marcus…”_  
_“Go! Get out! This is my world now and you don’t belong in it!”_  
_“Okay! Okay,” Benzedrine held his hands up defensively and sighed heavily. “I’m going!”_

Taking a deep breath, Benzedrine set off with purposeful strides deeper into the forest. Swallowing nervously, he tried hard to ignore the very strong feeling that he was being watched.


	9. I don't do so well on my own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr Benzedrine is attacked by a nightmare and Patrick and Mr Sandman have a heart-to heart

Patrick woke from his enforced sleep feeling remarkably refreshed. As his eyelids fluttered open, he heard a voice calling from the far corner of the room.

“Mr Sandman! He’s awake.”

Patrick heard a light shuffling sound followed by footsteps as Mr Sandman entered the room. Opening his eyes fully, he found himself in a dimly lit room, lying on a comfortable bed and apparently guarded by Andy’s look-a-like, Donnie.

“So, you’re awake now are you?” Sandman snapped in a harsh, clipped tone.

Patrick sat up, confused over what warranted his attitude. If anything, he was the one who had reason to be angry. Abducted to this strange world and rendered unconscious by one his tricks; Patrick was furious.

“What do you want from me? Whatever it is, you’re not getting it, neither of you are! Not you or Benzedrine!”  
“Really?”  
“Really!”  
“Then how do you explain this?” Sandman threw a magazine as viciously as he could, the pages unfurling as it hit Patrick in the chest. 

Straightening out the magazine pages, Patrick saw a picture of Mr Sandman on the front cover and the announcement of a four-page article inside. Turning the pages, Patrick’s eyes widened as he saw a filmed interview, complete with sound. The picture was flat on the page, but seemed somehow to extend back into it. The article announced itself as a Carousel exclusive – an in-depth interview with the elusive and normally hermit-like Mr Sandman.

“What?” Patrick finally got past the impossibility of the pictures and sound and tried to address the actual question.  
“That isn’t me!” Sandman snapped. Patrick noticed that whilst he sounded angry, he almost choked on the last word.  
“Pete?” Patrick gasped as he looked closer at the interview.  
“The Guv’nor is replacing me with your friend! This isn’t even Benzedrine’s doing!” Sandman flopped down into a chair and held his head in his hands.   
“Pete wouldn’t do this by choice, you can’t blame him,” Patrick insisted, gaining a pitiful glance from Mr Sandman.  
“I don’t,” he replied miserably. “I have to go to The Guv’nor now, have this out with him.”  
“I’m coming with you,” Patrick rose to his feet, ready to leave.  
“This has gone beyond anything you can do now. ”  
“That man’s got my friend! Getting him away is what we both want, isn’t it?”

Mr Sandman nodded with a faint smile. 

“I wish you were Benzedrine,” he sighed, “but then, I suppose he wishes Pete was Mr Sandman.”  
“I think you’re both as bad as each other,” Patrick replied, risking Mr Sandman’s anger.  
“You don’t know what he did to me,” Sandman shook his head lightly without even a hint of anger in his tone, only deep sadness.

*

Dr Benzedrine stopped walking for a moment and looked around. The forest was getting denser, darker and considerably more frightening. Noises surrounded him; the crunch of twigs underfoot, faint laughter, once or twice he even thought he’d heard his name being called. He knew he had to keep moving, but the way to his brother’s home had never seemed so far before. Yes, his memory could easily be faulty, it was a very long time ago, but he felt certain that he should be there by now. Maybe he had taken a wrong turn? Nodding to himself, Benzedrine turned only to find the path behind him had vanished and was now a tangled mess of tree roots and undergrowth. He could see no more then ten feet into the dark morass and he realised to his horror that he was lost inside a dense, changing forest. He should have known – this was a dream forest, or more accurately, a nightmare forest. It could change at will and without help he may never escape it. Had Mr Sandman somehow engineered this? Had he lured him to the Dream World only to trap him in this make-believe yet somehow very real forest? And of course, to make matters worse, he knew, even though he had tried hard to ignore it, that he was being followed… stalked… hunted.

“Marcus?” he called nervously, peering into the darkness between the twisted gnarled trunks.

What could easily have been the sound of the wind rustling the leaves on the trees grew louder and into sinister laughter that echoed all around. Benzedrine’s head turned one way then the next as he tried to pinpoint the source of the sound, but each time he thought he knew, the sound shifted and with each shift it moved a little closer. Finally terrified, Benzedrine decided to run. Which way to go? He had no idea, but running anywhere was better than waiting for it – whatever it was. Suddenly falling as he ran, Benzedrine sprawled to the floor, scratching himself badly and tearing his clothes on the bark of fallen trees. Looking down at his right ankle, he saw a vine tangled around it. Reaching down to free himself, Benzedrine’s eyes widened sharply as another vine snapped up and wrapped itself tightly around his wrist. Another curled around his upper arms holding him securely.

“No!” Benzedrine cried in panic. “Let me go! Marcus!”  
“You’re expecting Mr Sandman to save you?” 

Benzedrine looked up fearfully at the creature that had materialised in front of him. It was something that could only have been created by a disordered mind, so bizarre, it couldn’t have been real. A strange mixture of animals and fantasy had been brought together to create this nightmarish creature. The head little more than a skull covered in stretched, leathery skin. Its body, long and thin, moved with the fluidity of a snake. Unfathomably long, spindly arms stretched out from its shoulders ending in equally long slender fingers that moved so theatrically as to almost hypnotise. The legs, whilst in proportion to the body, seemed muscular and lithe giving the creature an athletic air. Dressed entirely in black and gold, Benzedrine realised to his horror that this was a warped and terrifying nightmare version of his brother. Over three times Mr Sandman’s height, the creature grinned broadly, its dry, leathery skin stretching unpleasantly across its face as more vines wrapped themselves around the struggling but helpless Benzedrine. 

“Marcus! Help!” Benzedrine called, unable to take his eyes from the nightmare towering over him.  
“No one can help you now, especially not your brother. He hates you, you know! I’m the product of that hate. I will see his greatest dream come true. Come.”

Hoisted aloft, Benzedrine struggled hard against the vines holding him securely. As the creature moved away in exaggerated but graceful, fluid movements, Benzedrine was carried deeper into the forest. Another vine wound itself around his eyes and mouth. Blindfolded, silenced, held securely and in the hands of his brother’s own nightmare creation, Benzedrine knew his life was shortening by the second and he was sure beyond a doubt that there was no one who cared enough to try to save him.

*

Mr Sandman squinted as the overly-bright daylight streamed into his eyes. The gaudy colours and exaggerated carnival atmosphere hadn’t changed at all. This was The Hills all right and, he noted with a hint of sadness, it had stopped feeling like home centuries ago. As he looked around, everyone he saw was a strange, over-the-top caricature of what they once looked like. Now glamorous and picture-perfect everyone was a celebrity and acted the part with relish. It drew a smile to Sandman’s lips. At first the smile bordered on laughter as he considered how ridiculous everyone looked, dressed so flamboyantly and colourfully. But soon the smile faded into a lop-sided wistful grin as his memory reached back to his boyhood, playing on the fairground rides with his brother, swimming in the lakes and climbing high into the hills themselves.

“Do you miss it?” Patrick asked, quietly observing Mr Sandman’s expression.  
“Some things,” he replied, staring into the distance before shaking his head lightly. “Not everything.”  
“You knew he liked cheesecake,” Patrick commented. “Best friend?” he asked.

Sandman allowed himself a small laugh, nodding as he turned to face Patrick. He hadn’t credited the singer with the intelligence to see what he had tried so hard to disguise.

“You don’t miss much, do you?”   
“Let’s just say, you’re not as unfamiliar to me as I first thought,” Patrick smiled kindly in return.  
“He’s my brother,” he admitted with a slight shrug.  
“But you want to kill him?” Patrick asked in disbelief, his brow creasing as he spoke.  
“I never said I wanted to kill him. Besides, he wants to kill me!” Sandman tried to justify the statement.  
“Does he?” Patrick asked. “If what you said was true and he kept the world awake, would the Dream World really disappear?”  
“Yes, it would,” Sandman replied, at first to Patrick’s surprise.  
“And you?”  
“No,” Mr Sandman sighed exhaustedly. Lowering his head, he looked over his right shoulder. “I’d live, but my reason for living would be gone.”  
“The Dream World is your reason for living? Nothing else?” Patrick pressed.  
“It’s what I do, it’s all I know.”  
“That’s not healthy,” Patrick shook his head. “And if the Dream World didn’t exist any more, what would you do?”  
“I don’t know,” Sandman admitted, rubbing one eye, somehow without smudging his make up.  
“No,” Patrick took his arm, “you don’t understand. Where would you go?”  
“Oh,” Sandman heaved a sigh, “I don’t know, back here, I guess.”  
“So, really, he’s just trying to bring you home.”

Mr Sandman frowned deeply before turning a pair of wide, disbelieving eyes toward Patrick. Could it be true? No, it wasn’t possible! Benzedrine could only have been trying to destroy the Dream World, his home, his beloved home. Why would he want to do anything else but hurt him? But surely he must have known what the outcome would have been? It was too difficult to even contemplate and Mr Sandman dismissed the idea out of hand.

“No, that wasn’t his plan,” Sandman insisted. “You don’t know him like I do!”  
“No,” Patrick shrugged. “I don’t, and maybe that’s not what he planned, but it is what he’d get. I just think that on some level, he’d know that.”  
“Patrick, we’ve spent all our adult lives at each other’s throats. Nothing’s going to change now. He hates me, he had me banished to the Dream World so he could be with our father and make him forget me.”  
“Your father wouldn’t be the guy you’re going to see now, would he?” Patrick asked, certain he knew the answer.  
“Yeah,” Sandman nodded. “And there’s your proof – he’s replacing me with your friend.”  
Patrick shook his head. “You can’t even convince yourself of that. You know Pete will have been forced to do that.”  
“Well?” Sandman asked, reluctant to admit that he could see where Patrick was steering the conversation.   
“Your feud, your rivalry, call it what you like. It’s got way out of control and he needs to see you, to sort it out. How can he get to you? He can’t go to the Dream World. On your own territory, you have the upper hand, the power. He wants you on his ground, somewhere he can make you listen. He has to get you here and he has, hasn’t he?”

Mr Sandman pushed his fingers through his hair and allowed his tense shoulders to sag a little.  
“Okay, maybe you’re right, but…”  
“Did your father really banish you or was it easier to believe that than admit that you missed him?”  
“What?” Sandman asked weakly, taken by surprise at the honesty and understanding in Patrick’s words.   
“Bottling things up won’t help you. Pretending you can cope when you can’t; that won’t help either.”  
“H… how…?”  
“Do you have any idea how much like Pete you actually are?” Patrick asked with a sympathetic smile.  
Sandman could only stare at first. “Are you like Silas… Dr Benzedrine?”  
Patrick chewed his lip for a moment. “Probably,” he admitted. “It can be hard to see yourself in people.”

Sandman flopped down on a grass bank and watched one of the nearby fairground rides turning gracefully with its horses bobbing up and down in a gentle rhythmic wave. The sound of the carnival music filled his ears and brought a weak smile to his lips. 

“If you’re right,” he began, “I’m in a lot of trouble with my father.”  
“If I am right,” Patrick smiled in reply, “he’ll forgive you.”  
Sandman glanced up at Patrick and sighed again. “You are a lot like Silas,” he nodded to emphasise the words. “You know what? I blamed him… for everything. I blamed him because it was easier than telling my father that I didn’t want to leave home.”  
“You do miss it, don’t you? But it’s not all you miss.”

Sandman drew his knees up to his chest and lowered his head. Watching as his shoulders shook lightly, Patrick moved away to give him some privacy.

“I don’t do too well on my own,” he finally sobbed.

Patrick sighed silently as he heard the words that summed up his own best friend. Words that Pete himself had written to work out the desperation he had felt on attempting suicide. Mr Sandman was more like him than he could ever have imagined. Lowering himself onto the grass at Mr Sandman’s side, Patrick placed an arm around his shoulder and pulled him comfortingly close in the same way he had done for Pete on dozens of occasions. 

“It’s okay,” he murmured softly. “Hardly anyone does.”


	10. You remember my name then?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandman and The Guv'nor have a long overdue talk

Carried through the dark forest, Dr Benzedrine had continued to fight against the vines that held him. With each movement they had grown tighter and tighter, finally the constriction around his chest had become too much and Benzedrine had passed out. 

Finally waking, Benzedrine found himself lying on an old stone floor, the cold creeping through his bones had already left him aching inside. Raising his head, he heard a low guttural growl coming from somewhere across the darkened room. Peering into the gloom, he saw a pair of blood red eyes staring back at him. In an inadvisable sudden movement, Benzedrine pushed himself upright and scrambled back against the wall. Before his back even touched the brickwork behind him, a huge black shape had lunged towards him. Losing his balance, Benzedrine fell back against the wall, hitting his head as he landed. The pain followed by the disorientation caused by the blow would normally have held his full attention, but he was unable to tear his eyes away from what appeared to be a wolf, twice the size it would normally be, only feet away. It’s mouth open and pulled into a vicious snarl, baring its long, sharp teeth and with saliva dripping from the sides, the wolf almost seemed to fill the room. Benzedrine was terrified, pushing himself as far back against the wall as he could manage, his eyes transfixed by the wolf’s own.

At the far end of the room. The gloom lifted momentarily as a door opened and closed. Stepping into the room was the Nightmare Sandman, unfolding as he slipped through the normal sized door. Benzedrine looked up and felt as though he was never going to stop looking up as the ceiling rose to accommodate him. At the same time the walls closed in, almost appearing to buckle as they tried to move closer to him as he passed by as if drawn to him by some sort of magnetic force. 

“So, then, Silas,” the creature chuckled, “you’ve met my pet. Do you like her?”  
“What do you want from me?” Benzedrine asked nervously, gathering his knees close to him.  
“I asked you a question, and when I ask you a question, I expect you to answer it. But I must warn you, Baby here will be listening to your replies. If you lie to me, ignore me or you’re at all rude to or about either of us, she will attack you. So, I say again – do you like her?”

Benzedrine swallowed hard – honest and polite would be a tall order.

“I… She seems exactly what you need.”

Nightmare Sandman grinned, the sight was a gruesome one. His leathery skin stretched tight across a face that was little more a skull, flashing rows of bright white teeth made all the more prominent by its sunken cheeks.

“Very diplomatic,” he laughed hollowly. “Now, to your question. What do I want from you? I already told you. I am here to make Mr Sandman’s dream come true. You are surplus to requirements, unloved and unnecessary.”

Benzedrine lowered his eyes; he had always suspected that he knew what his brother thought about him, but to hear the words spoken out loud… he might as well rip out his heart and feed it to his wolf.

“Maybe later,” Nightmare Sandman laughed harshly, gaining Benzedrine’s full attention once more. “Oh, yes, I have powers too and one of them is to know your thoughts and feelings. Nothing you can do will hide your thoughts from me. As a dream, I can be inside your head as well as standing in front of you, but make no mistake, I’m very real.”  
“What are you going to do?”  
“Do?” the Nightmare asked with a deeply unpleasant laugh. “I’m going to torment you with your own nightmares until you beg me to kill you. Time for you to sleep, Dr Benzedrine and the best part of this is that there is no one to wake you up!”

Benzedrine fought hard against the heavy drowsiness that fell over his eyes. Deep down, he knew that resisting was pointless, even as a dream, Nightmare Sandman was more than capable of putting him to sleep. The worst of it was that, in The Dream World, he had no powers at all.

He didn’t even remember the final part of falling asleep, all he was aware of was suddenly finding himself back in the forest and he was running for his life. He didn’t know if it was real or a dream, but he suspected that either way, it was potentially fatal. Behind him the sound of the oversized wolf, growling and charging towards him through the undergrowth spurred him on to run even faster. Momentarily stopping by a wide, gnarled barked tree to catch his breath, Benzedrine glanced around checking for vines and the glowing red eyes of the wolf. This couldn’t go on… he couldn’t go on much longer. Soon the running would exhaust him and he would be caught, but what…

“Silas?”

Turning quickly at the sound of his father’s voice, Benzedrine gasped to suddenly find himself in The Hills. The forest and Dream World were gone only to be replaced by scenes from his home. Except, this was very different. The skies were cloudy, the fairground rides stood idle with paint peeling from the wooden horses, the colours were dim and washed out, almost non-existent and worst of all, he was alone.

“Where am I?” he asked nervously.  
“Take your picture, Sir?” a voice asked suddenly at his shoulder.  
“No!” he cried turning away and running toward the merry-go-round, his favourite of all the rides.

Stepping up onto the platform, Benzedrine’s heart fluttered as the ride started moving. At last, something seemed normal. It didn’t last long. Turning faster with each passing second, the ride was soon careering out of control leaving the very frightened Benzedrine clinging on to one of the horse’s heads for dear life. The music, blaring out at full volume was speeded up to a high pitch; it sounded garbled and terrifying. Benzedrine closed his eyes tightly and prayed for it to stop. His arms ached as he clung to the horse, but he could already feel himself slipping. Spinning ever faster, the entire ride shifted from its housing and reeled forward. Jarred loose from his grip on the horse, Benzedrine was thrown from the ride. Landing in a crumpled, painful heap at the bottom of the grass verge, he lay for a few seconds mentally checking himself over for damage. He didn’t understand how, but there didn’t seem to be any bones broken, he was just badly bruised and sore. Opening his eyes, Benzedrine cried out in terror as he saw the runaway ride tipped on its side and bearing down on him.

*

There was no shortage of emotions; the only question was, which one was the overriding feeling? Mr Sandman had many questions swirling around in his head but as he pushed open the door, his mouth dried and the questions stuck in his throat. Standing still, he stared into the room he knew well – his father’s study. At the far end of the room stood The Guv’nor. From the way he looked at his son, it was clear he had been expecting him. What he hadn’t expected was to see Patrick alongside him. He knew, of course, that Patrick wasn’t his other son, Dr Benzedrine, but the sight of the pair together warmed his heart. Maybe, just maybe, this was taste of things to come. It was a fanciful dream, but he could hope.

“Marcus, come in.”  
“Oh,” Sandman cocked his head to one side as he walked inside, flanked by Patrick. “You remember my name then?”  
“Marcus, your mother wanted me to go easy on you,” The Guv’nor began, “but I doubt even she would expect me to deal with your attitude.”  
“My attitude!” Sandman gasped. “I’m not the one replacing you with someone else! I’m not…”  
“Be quiet, Marcus!” The Guv’nor growled angrily. “You know full well that the interview was merely a ruse to draw you here. The strange thing is that even though you know – and you do, don’t you, Marcus – you still came.”  
“Well, I…”  
“You want to sort this out as much as I do and I understand that. But first, Marcus let me explain a few home truths to you… you are a fool. An impetuous, self-centred, insecure, paranoid fool!”  
“No, don’t hold back!” he snapped in return. “Tell me what you really think!”  
“All this about you being banished,” The Guv’nor asked with distaste. “About Silas trying to get me to get rid of you. Tell me honestly, do you actually believe it? I mean, really believe it?”  
“Of course I do,” Sandman grumbled in reply with a vague shrug of his shoulders.   
“I said honestly!” The Guv’nor yelled, taking long determined strides towards Mr Sandman.  
“Look, I don’t know what to believe any more! Things were going well… well, no they weren’t, but they weren’t bad and then you sent me away to The Dream World! You even took away my powers if I returned to The Hills! I couldn’t defend myself if I came back even to visit! And you kept Silas by you constantly. Suddenly one son was enough for you and it wasn’t me! I was your first born, so I guess I let you down in some way, because you found it way too easy to get rid of me. I lost everyone that day! You, Mother and, yes, even Silas. I know we didn’t get on, but we might have worked things out but… but you took his powers too! He couldn’t come to The Dream World. I was alone after centuries of having, what I thought was, a loving family, I was completely abandoned! Now tell me you didn’t banish me!”

The Guv’nor paled at Mr Sandman’s tirade. Everything he had said was true, from a certain perspective, but none of it was how it was meant to be.

“Silas went with you to The Dream World to help you settle. You threw him out, told him he wasn’t welcome there.”  
“He kept telling me it was an honour! Tell me how being ditched by your family is an honour! And Silas, your Golden Boy, you kept him close enough, didn’t you? He didn’t let you down, did he?”  
“All this time? That’s what you thought?”  
“What else was I supposed to think?” Sandman asked miserably.

The Guv’nor nodded as he looked with pity at his eldest son. He was trembling, partly with anger, partly with anxiety. His eyes were trying hard not to well up and his brow was creasing under the effort of holding back long overdue tears.

“Marcus, please, sit down, let me explain, but first, who is your friend?”

Too choked to speak, Sandman lowered his eyes. 

“I’m Patrick, Sir,” he introduced himself. “Pete’s friend.”  
“And you’re not demanding to see him?” The Guv’nor queried with surprise.

The truth was that Patrick was in no position to demand anything. He had to play nice with these people or he may never be returned to his own world. But the question required a different kind of response other than acknowledgement of fear.

“I saw him in the interview and he looked well. You obviously have something important to deal with here, I can wait.”  
The Guv’nor raised an eyebrow. “Marcus, your friend is lying to me.”  
“I…” Patrick began only to be silenced by a wave of The Guv’nor’s hand.  
“Do you know why he’s lying?”  
“No,” Sandman replied in a small voice. “I didn’t know he was.”  
“He’s lying so that I’m not distracted from talking to you. He wants desperately for him and his friend to be allowed to return home, but he is putting his needs second to yours.”  
Sandman looked up once more and turned a puzzled expression toward Patrick. “Why?”  
“I’ve spoken to you and your brother and I think you’ve all fallen into this situation because none of you have ever explained anything and you’ve all just assumed the worst. Finally, you’re talking, I’m not going to interrupt that.”  
“Please, sit down, both of you.”  
“This is a family matter, Sir…”  
“Please stay,” Sandman almost begged.

Nodding silently, Patrick settled onto a comfortable leather couch alongside Mr Sandman as The Guv’nor perched himself against his desk.

“Marcus, I always wanted you to have The Dream World, even when you were a small boy. You were always quick-witted and creative and those qualities were ideal for it. But, it’s true, you were also quite emotional, which, in itself, wasn’t a problem, but it made you quite needy and jealous and a little high-maintenance.”  
“Thanks,” Sandman grumbled. “I feel better already.”  
“Hear me out, Marcus,” The Guv’nor scolded lightly. “As you grew up, your relationship with Silas deteriorated dramatically.”   
“Well, that might be because you started grooming him to take over The Hills. Getting him to study to be a doctor, like you. Keeping him here, teaching him how to govern. Meanwhile, I’m stuck in The Dream World and can’t even return because you took my powers away from me!”  
“I gave you The Dream World because I had always wanted to, it never occurred to me that you wouldn’t want it. I really thought you wanted it too, that it would make you happy. I’m sorry.”

Sandman looked up, astonished; his father had apologised to him. For the briefest of moments, he felt guilty.

“I love The Dream World,” he admitted quietly. “I always did, despite what I told Silas.”  
“Good,” The Guv’nor smiled. “But there is something else that happened that you weren’t aware of. I became ill.”  
“What!” Sandman’s eyes grew wide. “You never told me. Is it serious? Are you… okay?”  
“Silas wanted to travel. I asked him to stay, to be Mr Benzedrine to your Mr Sandman and I asked him to study so that I would have a doctor I trusted. What could he say? I kept him from leaving.”  
“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have come home, I would have done all that!”  
“It was wrong of me, I know that now, but you were my first born, I wanted you to have your dream and to enjoy it.” The Guv’nor shook his head. “Silas stayed, eventually became Dr Benzedrine and looked after me but he shifted the blame for losing his dream onto you.”  
“You’re telling me that Silas gave up everything so I could have what I wanted?”  
“Yes.”  
“And I hated him for it?” Finally Sandman’s tears spilled onto his cheeks.  
“If you’re going to hate anyone, it should be me,” he sighed. “I made grave mistakes with both of you, it’s taken me a long time to see that.”  
“I can’t hate you,” Sandman choked out. “I don’t want to hate anyone! Where’s Silas?”

The Guv’nor looked at the door and gestured with his hand toward himself.

“Come in,” he nodded.  
“Silas?” Sandman jumped to his fee and turned only to show his disappointment as Donnie escorted Pete into the room.  
“Patrick?” Pete called.

Rising swiftly from the couch, Patrick ran to his friend.

“Are you okay?” he asked quickly.  
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Pete reassured him. “You?”  
Patrick nodded before turning back to face The Guv’nor. “Can we go back now?”  
“Of course, Donnie, will you return them to their own world, please?”  
“Donnie?” Sandman cut in. “Why are you here?”  
“Ah, something else I should explain,” The Guv’nor sighed. “Donnie works for me, I asked him to keep an eye on both of you. Not to interfere, just observe and keep me up to date.”  
“Both of us?” Sandman frowned.   
“Don’t you think I should worry about both of you?”  
“Enough to spy on us?”  
“Donnie was never intrusive, I just wanted to be sure you were okay, that’s all.”  
“Sir?” Donnie cut in urgently; his tone told them all that something was wrong.  
“Donnie? What is it?” The Guv’nor asked.  
“Dr Benzedrine, Sir, he went alone into The DreamWorld… into the forest.”

Sandman’s head spun to face Donnie, his eyes wide with panic.

“That’s were the escaped nightmares live!”  
“He’s been captured,” Donnie lowered his eyes as he saw the pain on Sandman’s face.  
“What by?”  
“Your nightmare.”  
“It’ll kill him! I’ve got to…”  
“You can’t fight that thing alone,” Donnie cut in. “Let me help.”  
“I can’t ask you…”  
“You didn’t.”

Sandman smiled weakly in reply before turning to Patrick and Pete.

“Patrick… Pete… I’ve no right to ask for your help after everything we’ve done to you, but I need to tell my brother I was wrong about him… that… I love him. Will… will you help me?”

Patrick and Pete exchanged glances, their serious expressions stretching into broad grins. 

“Let’s go,” Patrick replied for both of them.


	11. Don't let them catch you, Silas!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete and Patrick get reinforcements and Dr Benzedrine tries to stay alive!

Despite his aching limbs and back, Benzedrine knew he had to get clear of the runaway merry-go-round bearing down on him at speed. Rolling to his right as fast as he was able, Benzedrine breathed a sigh of relief as the ride almost skimmed his back in a flurry of wind and thunderous noise. Pushing himself unsteadily to his feet, Benzedrine watched as the ride continued its way down the hill towards the river. Breathing deeply, he tried to settle his racing heart all too aware that he had come close to death and that what was trying to kill him was a twisted nightmare version of his own brother. There was one thing he had said that scared him more than anything - there was no one to wake him up. Only two people could end this. He was one of them, but he couldn't do it from within a dream. The other was Mr Sandman and if he even knew where he was, he wouldn't care. This was, as the creature was fond of saying, his dream come true. Why would he stop it? No, he was trapped. Trapped in a perpetual nightmare until the creature managed to kill him. The irony was that the story he had told Patrick to try to solicit his help against Mr Sandman suggested that this very thing would happen. Perhaps it was just punishment for lying? Perhaps Marcus had heard the tale and engineered it? There wasn't time to worry about why, he had to hide and figure out some way to escape. 

There were only three buildings nearby - the Photographer's offices, his father's offices and nearest of all, adjacent to the rides, lay the Fun House. Benzedrine considered them all. The Photographer's offices were certainly out of the question. With a single flash of one of their cameras they could easily capture him and he would be Nightmare Sandman's easiest prey. That left only his father's offices and the Fun House, but neither sounded inviting. Nightmare Sandman knew his way around their father's office as well as he did, there would be nowhere to hide. Then there was the Fun House, but this was a nightmare, he knew what to expect, even stepping inside that building would be his greatest mistake. Heading towards his father's office, Benzedrine took a quick look around to check if he had been observed before slipping inside. 

He was inside only a fraction of a second before the door slammed shut behind him. Row upon row of colourful bulbs flickered to life and a slightly sinister version of old-fashioned carnival music began, slowly at first as if being wound by a handle before reaching full speed. This was most definitely not his father's office building. Somehow he had been tricked or manoeuvred into entering the Fun House. Turning quickly, Benzedrine pulled hard on the door, but it was locked tight. 

“This is a nightmare, Silas,” came a mocking voice behind him. “Nightmares never go your way.” 

Benzedrine turned slowly to see Nightmare Sandman towering over him, blocking the long corridor that led to the Hall of Mirrors and the Maze. 

“Let me out of here!” Benzedrine yelled defiantly, despite his terror.   
“But of course, my dear Silas. I have no intention of damaging a single hair of your head.” 

Benzedrine became suddenly aware that at some point since his capture, he had lost his hat. Glancing down briefly he saw that his long tailcoat was torn and dirty, one cuff ripped away entirely. 

“Yes, not looking quite so golden now are you, Silas?”   
“Let me go,” Benzedrine pleaded quietly.   
“Will you leave The Hills and never return?” 

Benzedrine lowered his eyes. It had once been his dream to leave The Hills. He had been much younger then and had wanted to travel and experience so much more than he ever could in this one tiny corner of the world. Donnie was going to travel with him but his father's needs had overshadowed his own and his dream had been lost. Even Donnie didn't seem to be around as much in recent decades, disappearing for long spells without any explanation of where he had been. Benzedrine knew only that Donnie now worked for his father, but he was often gone from The Hills, leaving him alone and friendless. Being the ruler's son and doctor and also the man who each morning tore people from their sleep was not the most popular of professions. It was the main reason he had developed the power to make people forget that they had seen him, that he was the one ruining their night's sleep and dreams. He had effectively made himself invisible to people, which may have saved him from hatred but offered only loneliness as a consolation. As to his question - would he leave The Hills? How could he, knowing that his father needed him? Besides, it was still his home. 

“You don't understand, I can't,” he replied.   
“I didn't think so,” the creature gave a knowing nod, without actually understanding the real reason for Benzedrine's refusal. Well, like I said, I'm not going to hurt you. The exit at the other end of Fun House is unlocked and open, all you have to do is get there.”   
The corridor filled with Nightmare Sandman's cackling laughter as he disappeared slowly from sight, leaving Benzedrine alone in the gaudily lit corridor. Taking several deep breaths, Benzedrine took his first few steps down the corridor. It was clear to him that he wasn't expected to survive. 

* 

“Do we have time to get Joe and Andy?” Patrick asked as they left the room.   
Mr Sandman turned a suspicious eye towards Patrick. “You want me to take you back home?”   
“To convince them to help,” Patrick nodded.   
“More help would be useful,” Donnie stressed as the small group came to a halt only yards from the door to The Guv'nor's study.   
“I… I don't know,” Sandman replied with uncertainty in his tone.   
“I'll stay while you go back,” Pete offered. “That's the problem, isn't it? You think if we go back we'll refuse to help you.”   
Mr Sandman turned a pair of glistening eyes towards Pete.   
“I don't deserve your help after what I've done to you.”   
“Let's just say, you've grown on us. You're just like us, but in weird clothes,” Pete smirked.   
Sandman allowed himself the first real laugh he had experienced in a very long time.   
“What?” Pete queried.   
“I was just thinking the same about you!”   
Pete frowned, mildly insulted. “Go and get Joe and Andy… and get me some shoes!”   
“Oh!” Sandman cried as a pair of Pete's own skate shoes appeared in his hands. “I borrowed these.”   
At first taken aback by the display of Mr Sandman's powers, Pete hesitated before finally replying with a brief “Thanks.” He sighed as he took them and slipped them gratefully onto his feet. “Now, go, get Joe and Andy!”   
“Thank you,” Sandman nodded sincerely before turning and repeating the action at Patrick. “Thank you!” 

*

“Do you think we made a mistake?” Andy asked as he paced the living room of Joe’s apartment.  
“Letting him go or coming here?” Joe asked with a helpless shrug only barely visible from his position on the deep leather couch.  
“Coming here?” Andy asked, somewhat puzzled by the suggestion. “Why would that be a mistake?”  
“Well, in case he comes back but goes to the studio,” Joe explained simply.  
Andy shook his head with surprising certainty. “Nah, they found Pete and Patrick easily enough, I’m sure they can find us… if he even tries.”  
“If he doesn’t come back, we’re going to have to report this to the police and we’re going to have to decide what we say,” Joe rolled his eyes as he thought about how they would even begin to file a police report.  
“What you mean decide between lying and getting ourselves both committed to a psychiatric hospital?” Andy replied with a slight smirk, despite their situation.

The smirk was contagious and Joe couldn’t help but smile in return. Their situation was ridiculous. No one would believe them if they told the truth and they could never be found if they lied; it was a real no-win situation.

“Yeah,” Joe took a deep breath as he replied. “Basically, we’re in deep…”  
“Look!” Andy cried, his eyes wide and his hand frantically waving and pointing at the door to the dining room.

Turning, Joe saw what he hoped he would see – the formation of one of the voids that Mr Sandman had returned through with Patrick. Now waiting with baited breath, Joe and Andy stared, almost without blinking, at the forming black shape. Finally as it reached roughly five feet in length, they saw the first of two shapes emerging – Patrick and Mr Sandman. Still in awe of the void, despite having seen it before, Andy and Joe stared silently as the newly emerged pair launched immediately into their efforts to convince the two friends to accompany them back to Carousel.

“Andy! Joe! We need your help, you have to come with us,” Patrick rushed his explanation. “Dr Benzedrine’s in trouble and we have to help him.”  
“Why?” Andy asked suspiciously. “Are they forcing you? Are you okay?”  
“No… er… yes, we’re fine and they’re not forcing us, we offered to help. But we don’t have time to argue, Dr Benzedrine…”

As Patrick had been speaking, a deep, uncertain frown had formed on Joe’s face. He glanced briefly at Andy moments before asking his question. 

“How do we know that you’re Patrick? You could be Dr Benzedrine posing as Patrick to capture us and take us back there.”  
“Joe,” Patrick’s brow furrowed. “It’s me.”  
“Joe’s right,” Andy chimed in. “For all we know, you’ve got Pete and Patrick locked up somewhere and you’re trying to trick us!”  
“In that case, I’m pretty hurt that you’re not trying to rescue us!” Patrick pouted.  
“I should have thought about it,” Sandman nodded. “You should have stayed behind and I should have come with Pete, then it would have been obvious.”  
“Tell us something only Patrick would know,” Andy suggested.

Patrick’s shoulders sagged; did Andy not realise just how tall an order that was? Something that he knew, that Andy or Joe also knew that couldn’t be discovered using a search engine.

“You can’t, can you?” Andy remarked pointedly after a few moments silence.  
“No, I can’t!” Patrick protested. “It’s not that easy, you know!”  
“What did we talk about last week?” Andy finally asked after much consideration.  
“Oh, please!” Patrick flapped his hands at his side. “Do you even remember?”  
“No,” Andy admitted, “but I might if you said.”  
“Patrick,” Sandman interrupted quietly. “We don’t have time for this. He’s in real trouble, we have to go now! With or without them.”

The look of desperation on Patrick’s face as he tried to remember something that he and Andy had spoken of earlier did more to convince them that he was the genuine article than anything else. Finally giving up, he nodded to Mr Sandman.

“Okay,” he sighed, “let’s get ba… hi-hats!” he yelled triumphantly as he turned quickly back to Andy. “You’re considering getting new hi-hats!”  
Andy grinned. “Why are we helping? I thought…”  
“We got off on the wrong foot,” Patrick explained briefly. “We’ll explain when we get there. Come on, he’s in real danger!”

Following Patrick to the still open void, Joe held back momentarily.

“What happens when we go through?” he asked, with a little uncertainty.  
“Oh! He’s right, it’s a long way down and then Donnie will need time between…”  
“Donnie’ll be fine!” Sandman offered a puzzled frown. “There are only three of you!”

*

As Benzedrine reached the end of the corridor he jerked his head around nervously as the lights behind him dimmed and flickered. As he turned, the bulbs died one row at a time starting with those nearest to him. As the last bulb switched off, the long corridor was plunged into absolute darkness and Benzedrine was forced to extend his hands to feel for the wall. Instead of a solid wooden panelled wall, Benzedrine’s fingers landed on something soft and spongy. Recoiling immediately, Benzedrine cried out in shock as a pair of hands snatched at both his wrists gripping them so tightly as to drain all the strength from his lower arms. Setting his balance and digging his feet into the floor, Benzedrine pulled back with every ounce of effort he could muster. Only then did he feel more hands snaking their way across his face, down his arms and legs, and across his chest and back.

“No!” he whimpered, still trying to pull free as the hands either dragged, pushed or steered him down the corridor and off to the left.

There were only two possible destinations from the corridor – the Hall of Mirrors or the Maze. The Maze, he knew in this nightmare would be ever changing, and would never allow him to leave. Inside he found himself praying for the Hall of Mirrors, but he knew, without too much deliberation, that either choice would be fraught with danger.

Finally all of the hands released him at once and simply disappeared. A blinding white light filled the room causing Benzedrine to shield his eyes. Even so, a flash of pain behind his tightly closed eyes dulled to a mild headache as the light dimmed to a much more bearable level, although still overly bright. Either side of him, lining the walls were a variety of different shaped mirrors. Benzedrine choked back a sob as he realised that somehow these innocuous objects intended for amusement would, in some way, try to kill, trap or torture him.

Stepping forward gingerly, he reached the first mirror, trying hard, despite his deep anxiety, not to look at it, perhaps hoping that if he didn’t, it couldn’t affect him. Nothing happened. Taking a few more steps forward, still nothing. His heart raced as he reached the centre of the room, almost hyperventilating, he stopped dead in his tracks as all the mirrors suddenly shifted into an almost complete circle around him. He could see reflections of himself all around the room, each one twisted into a grotesque form caused by the positioning and shape of each mirror. All the blood drained from his face and he felt light-headed and faint as, one by one, his reflections stepped from the mirrors, retaining their twisted, bloated or emaciated forms. Benzedrine trembled with terror as slowly they closed in on him, their eyes vacant and their arms extended, hands ready to seize him. There was only one escape route – through the middle of them and out the other side. Finding his strength again, he bolted forward, hearing Nightmare Sandman’s cackling laughter as he ran.

“Don’t let them catch you, Silas!” he taunted. “If they get you inside a mirror, you’ll never escape!”


	12. Mr H Shoe Crab

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Mr Crab and Benzedrine forgets something important

Half a dozen grasping hands fell on Benzedrine as he ran. Determined not to stop, he shrugged off his tailcoat leaving his reflections behind. As he reached the exit to the Hall of Mirrors he was stopped by two more versions of himself, blocking the doorway. One was tall and wiry, the other reminding him of the shape of an hourglass. Knowing he had only seconds to escape before the others caught up with him, he pulled back his arm and swung it as hard as he could into the abdomen of the hourglass-shaped reflection. Regretting it instantly, Benzedrine crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath and clutching his stomach while the reflection remained unhurt.

“Ha, ha! Poor Silas! Didn’t you realise you were only going to hurt yourself? These are just reflections, what you do to them, you do to yourself,” Nightmare Sandman’s voice cackled around the room.

Benzedrine hadn’t even fully recovered before he saw his reflections standing over him looking down with vacant expressions.

“No!” he cried as he tried to push himself up.

Reaching down, the reflections grasped his legs, arms and back and lifted him from the floor to waist height. Writhing desperately in their grip, Benzedrine looked behind him as best as he was able and saw to his horror that they were carrying him toward a mirror still standing against the wall. Unlike the other mirrors it was quite ornate and edged in gold.

“Not just an ordinary mirror for you, my dear brother. No, for you, something special. Trapped for eternity behind cold glass, I think that’s good enough a punishment, don’t you?” the voice now sounded harsh and unyielding.  
“I haven’t done anything to you! Please, let me go!”

The room suddenly darkened as in a whirl of his sheer coat, Nightmare Sandman appeared in the room, leaning menacingly over Benzedrine.

“You’ve done nothing to me?” he shrieked; the sound painful to Benzedrine’s ears. “This much hate doesn’t make itself, dear brother!”  
“You’re not my brother! You’re just a nightmare!” Benzedrine yelled back. “Just like this, nightmares are never what you want! You’re not what he wants!”  
“If I’m not what he wants, why does he let me exist? He doesn’t have to. Besides, just because I’m your nightmare, does that really make me his? No, I’m his dream, that’s why he lets me live, because this is what he truly wants.”  
“Please let me go,” Benzedrine begged.  
“You’re willing to risk death over imprisonment?” Nightmare Sandman smiled broadly, drawing a fearful grimace from Benzedrine at the sight of it. “Drop him.”

Instantly, at his word, the reflections released their grip on Benzedrine, allowing him to drop painfully to the floor, hurting all the more because of the bruising he had already sustained. As the initial pain subsided, he looked up to see that all the reflections and even Nightmare Sandman had disappeared and he was alone in the room. In front of him was a door that he knew would open out into the Play Room – a gigantic area full of tradition Victorian-style amusements. Standing and edging towards the door, he tried to keep his heart from racing as he wondered what cruel twists Nightmare Sandman had waiting for him on the other side. With a great deal of nervous trepidation, he pushed the door.

*

Patrick had stepped through the void first, followed by Joe and Andy then finally, to close it behind him, Mr Sandman.

“How did you get here before us?” Patrick asked Mr Sandman as Donnie lowered him to his feet and prepared to catch Joe. “You did that last time too. And you had time to change your clothes.”  
“I know a shortcut,” Sandman replied simply but avoiding any useful answer.  
“Pete!” Joe cried. “Good to see you, man! You okay?”  
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied slapping Joe’s shoulder before pulling him into a hug. “Boy, am I glad to see you guys! It’s been pretty crazy down here.”

Behind them another short huffing sound signalled the arrival of Andy.

“How did he…” Andy began, pointing at Sandman who was now staring intently at something in the forest.  
“A shortcut, he said,” Patrick explained with a shrug.

Within moments, Sandman was racing into the forest without a word to the others. On his heels in a moment was Donnie. Glancing urgently to Joe and Andy, Patrick led the race to keep up. Only a couple of hundred yards away, Sandman had stopped and Donnie had placed an arm on his shoulders – was he consoling him?

“What’s wrong?” Patrick asked urgently as the four musicians caught up to the unnaturally fast Sandman and Donnie.

Mr Sandman turned holding a canary-yellow hat with matching ostrich feather tucked into the band on the left-hand side.

“His hat,” Sandman whispered miserably. “Do you have any idea how bad things must have been that he lost this?”  
“Some,” Patrick nodded sincerely.  
“I just don’t understand why he came here! He has no powers in the Dream World, he can’t defend himself!”  
“That might be my fault,” Joe admitted looking guiltily at the floor.  
“How could it be your fault?” Pete asked. “You weren’t even here.”  
“Let him answer,” Sandman demanded, trying hard to keep the volume of his voice from rising.  
“It wasn’t intentional, we didn’t know it was dangerous,” Andy leapt in before Joe could continue.  
“What happened?” Patrick asked, placing a calming hand on Mr Sandman’s chest.  
“We left the studio to talk to Dr Benzedrine, but he was terrified of me. He thought I was my character from the video. I didn’t know why he should be scared, but I thought I could use it to our advantage and I asked him to get you both back.”  
“That’s not your fault, Joe,” Patrick insisted.  
“That’s not all, he wouldn’t just do what you said, no matter who you are. What else aren’t you telling us?”

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Even as Joe began his reply, Mr Sandman regretted asking the question. The hand over his mouth on realisation of what Joe was about to say soon moved with the other, both arms extended waving, begging him not to say the word.

“I said if he managed it, I’d give him some luck.”

The sudden wind that whipped up around the trees was potentially dangerous. Low-lying branches swung with a couple of near misses, while debris, stones and fallen twigs were thrown into the air. Diving for cover, all four musicians wondered what on earth was happening. Mr Sandman’s reaction told them it was something to with what Joe had said but they had no idea what. It was all over in seconds, but it left everyone exhausted. One by one, the friends rose to their feet and as they did, they noticed another man. Dressed from head to toe in orange, with a large orange flower pinned to his shirt and a hat, smaller even than a paper cup, perched ridiculously on his head above his right eye. He was Mr H Shoe Crab – The Luckiest Man Alive and, of course, he looked exactly like Joe.

“Who did it? Who said ‘luck’?” he asked immediately.  
“Er… it was me,” Joe replied hesitantly, worried about what was going to happen. It was only now that they began to notice that neither Mr Sandman nor Donnie were in sight.  
“You?” Mr Crab replied with some hesitance. “Who are you?”  
“I’m kind of you… but in…” Joe was at a loss to know how to refer to home.  
“Normal World,” Pete offered, having heard The Guv’nor’s Aide refer to it.  
“Thank you!” he cried finally relaxing and smiling. “You freed me!”  
“Freed you?” Joe asked perplexed. “What from?”  
“Three rulers before the current was a man called Owen. He was… he was a cruel unstable man who wanted to control everyone and everything. My gifts of luck and chance went against everything he wanted to achieve – absolute power. No one could do or think anything that wasn’t approved by him. And me? Well I refused to be cowed. But then, I didn’t know what he was capable of. The then Mr Sandman and he got together to create a prison for me outside of the real world. But even in dreams, there has to be a way out and for me that was the word ‘luck’. But, by then, everyone was under his control, either by benefitting from him or being just too scared of him to defy him. He banned the word from being spoken. People began referring to it as ‘The L Word’ and he managed to convince generations that to use it would release some sort of monster, plague or disaster on the world. He had me trapped and as time passed, I lost hope of ever being released – certainly no one from Carousel was ever going to say it.

“You said generations passed during one ruler?” Patrick asked with uncertainty.  
“All rulers,” Mr Crab replied with a nod. “They live for centuries, it’s thought that the best way to maintain peace is to have consistency.”  
“Except, when you get a bad one?” Joe countered.  
Mr Crab shrugged philosophically. “Luck comes in two types. Probably another reason he wanted rid of me – in case I sent him bad luck.”  
“You can do that?” Andy stepped forward.  
“I can,” Mr Crab nodded. “But I don’t – there’s enough bad without making more, don’t you think?”

A round of nods and murmurs of agreement followed after which Mr Crab addressed the air.

“You can come out now, Mr Sandman. I know you’re here and Donnie too, if you don’t mind.”

Gingerly and clearly terrified, Mr Sandman rose from behind a fallen tree trunk and Donnie stepped from behind a nearby tree.

“I’m not the monster I’ve been painted and you’re not the man who imprisoned me, even if you do have his job. You have nothing to fear from me, only something to gain.”

Mr Sandman edged forward slowly.

“Do you know where your brother is?”  
“No,” Sandman replied, his voice just above a whisper. “Just that he’s been taken by an escaped nightmare.”  
“Escaped nightmare?” Mr Crab shook his head. “Does your father know you allow your nightmares to run wild in the forest?”  
“No!” Sandman paled. “I didn’t think it would do any harm, there’re only five of them.”  
“And all of them yours.”

It wasn’t a question, but Mr Sandman nodded anyway.

“All of them?” Donnie asked incredulously.  
“He never came here! He was safe from them!” Sandman cried.  
“Well, he isn’t now is he?” Donnie yelled in return.  
“I can take you to him,” Mr Crab announced. “As luck would have it, I know exactly where he is.”  
“Is he okay?” Sandman asked urgently.  
“He’s… alive,” Mr Crab answered carefully.

Sandman’s brow creased and he appeared almost on the verge of tears.

“Can you take all of us?” Patrick stepped forward.  
Mr Crab looked around. “Six of you? Is that all?”

Earlier, six of them had seemed like good odds, but now, the revelation that five Nightmare Sandmen existed, all with powers they neither understood nor could come close to matching, made them feel severely outnumbered.

“I… I understand if you don’t want to go any further… now you know,” Sandman lowered his head.  
“Is there anything else we don’t know?” Patrick asked sternly.  
“No, that’s everything,” he sighed. “But remember, it’s a nightmare, so normal Nightmare Rules apply.”  
“What are normal Nightmare Rules?” Pete poked him in the chest forcing him to look up.  
“You don’t know? I thought everyone knew!”  
“They’re not from here, remember!” Donnie snapped, still angry that the existence of all five nightmares had been kept from him.  
“There aren’t many, they’re more like non-rules than anything. Scenes will shift unexpectedly, things and even people may not be what or who you expect and normal physical rules may not apply.”  
“Like what?” Pete pressed.  
“You know, flying, feeling like you’re running in treacle or things moving further away without actually moving.”  
“That’s it?”  
“One last thing, and it’s very important, the more you want something, the less likely it is you’ll get it.”  
“So, you mean the more Benzedrine wants to escape the harder it’ll be for him?”  
Sandman nodded. “If I don’t help him, he’ll never get out.”

Pete turned to look at his bandmates. One look told him all he needed to know.

“You mean, if _we_ don’t help him?”

*

“You really know where he is?” Sandman asked quietly.  
“He’s in the Fun House on dream level seventeen. Gather round, I’ll take you to him,” Mr Crab signalled to them all.  
“Mr Sandman,” Patrick began as he stepped forward concerned at the expression on Mr Sandman’s face following Mr Crab’s words. “Do we have any weapons at all against your nightmares? Any protection?”  
“Just me,” he frowned. “If they’re distracted, I can dispose of them, but if they know I’m doing it, or…” Sandman frowned worriedly and suddenly stopped talking.  
“Or what?” Patrick pressed as the small circle of friends gathered by Mr Crab.  
“If they capture him,” Donnie answered for him.  
“They can do that?” Joe’s eyebrows rose in surprise at the idea. “But aren’t you stronger than them? They’re not real… are they?”  
“In the forest, no, well, not quite real,” Donnie tried to explain, “but we’re entering a dream and in a dream, they’re real, we’re not. They have the advantage.”

Mr Sandman looked defeated; it killed him that he wasn’t in control of the situation. Here he was, in his own world, creator of a million dreams and it had just been announced to _Normal Worlders_ and Mr Crab that he wasn’t even in control of his own creations. He was crushed and humiliated, but things were about to get worse.

“Hey!” Pete pushed him hard in the chest. “You told us there wasn’t anything else to know and now this! What else is there? And I want the truth this time!”  
“How is this something else?” he snapped back. “Did you think I was in control of them? Why do you think I need help? Why do you think this is going to be difficult? Where in there is the notion that I can stop them? Just because you know why I can’t control them doesn’t change the situation at all!”

Pete took a step back frowning guiltily. Of course he was right, but if the truth were known, he was scared, they all were.

“You can come or you can stay, I’m not going to force you and believe me, I could! I’m going after my brother! I can’t wait any longer.”

Sandman spun on his heels and disappeared before his coat had even stopped swirling.

“Marcus!” Donnie cried before turning quickly back to Mr Crab. “I have to follow him, he can’t do this alone. Please help me.”  
“His name’s Marcus?” Pete raised an eyebrow at Donnie.  
“What about it?” Donnie turned an irritated expression towards Pete, annoyed at the further delay.  
“Well, I thought he was…”  
“You thought his name was Mr Sandman?” Donnie rolled his eyes and exhaled disapprovingly. “You’re clueless, aren’t you?”  
“Hey!” Pete turned fully to face him and turned an angry yet defensive glare in his direction.  
“In your world, you have last names that are occupations, yes? Like Baker, Weaver, Carpenter? Here your last name is your occupation. He is Marcus Joshua Sandman because that’s what he does. How could you not see that?”  
“Well, how do you expect us to know that?” Pete argued, annoyed at what he saw as Donnie’s personal attack.  
“Did it never occur to you that his brother has a different last name?”  
“Well I’m pretty sure his occupation isn’t being a crab!” Pete cried defensively, pointing at Mr Crab.  
“I’m not actually from here,” Mr Crab explained. “And outside of The Hills the practice is less common. Each district is slightly different, we all have different ways.”  
“We don’t have time to do this now!” Donnie interrupted. “I need to find him, quickly.”  
“And us, too,” Patrick added glancing around for approval, receiving nods from Joe and Andy. “Pete?”  
“Yeah,” he replied with a vague scowl toward Donnie. “Let’s go.”  
“Very well, Donnie, be ready to catch if needed.”

Donnie nodded gravely as Mr Crab prepared a ball of energy in his hand. Rolling it back and forth, the brilliant blue-white light grew with each passing second. Finally placing it on the floor, while continuing to massage and stretch it out, the ball was pulled into a large rectangular area of almost glowing blue-white light. Gesturing upwards, now without actually touching it, Mr Crab stretched it out to almost six feet in height and four feet across.

“This door will take you straight there,” he finally announced.  
“You’re not coming? Donnie frowned unhappily.  
Replying with a faint smile, Mr Crab nodded. “Yes, I’ll come.”

*

Mr Sandman spun to a halt and immediately fell over and continued rolling gently. Throwing out his arms, he tried to get his bearings as quickly as he could. Looking around, he saw that he was inside a giant wooden cylinder that was slowly rotating.

“Of course,” he sighed almost with a laugh. “It’s the barrel.”

Pushing himself unsteadily to his feet, he walked with the rotation and headed towards one of the open ends. This was one of the many old-fashioned amusements inside the huge building. A large wooden barrel, open at both ends, that rotated permanently, stopping only to occasionally change direction. One person alone in the barrel typically had no problems, but with large groups, there was always someone who would fall. In turn, they would trip others until it actually became harder and harder to remain standing and even get out. Stepping out onto firm ground, Sandman crouched down and looked around carefully. The longer he could remain unnoticed, the more chance he had of disposing of his nightmares. Much to his delight and surprise, he saw one of them almost immediately. High on a rope bridge overlooking the entire Play Room, Sandman saw one of the nightmares apparently staring down at the giant shaking bowling pins at the main entrance to the room. He could hear a distinct laughing sound and his eyes were drawn down to the pins. A flash of yellow was all he needed to know. Softly saying a few words, Sandman extended his arm in the nightmare’s direction; if he did this right he could dispose of him without attracting attention. Watching with satisfaction as the nightmare almost seemed to flicker and fade, Sandman grinned at the fact he had managed to draw him back before he had the chance to raise the alarm.

Now setting off toward the pins, Sandman kept low and moved stealthily across the cavernous room. In the corner of the room, were thirty-foot high replicas of bowling pins, each of them stood fixed to the floor but with a slightly rounded base. The result of which would cause them to tilt and shake at the slightest vibration, but thankfully, the way they were secured meant they could never fall. Between each pin set into the wooden floor lay a two-foot wide circular metal plate that twisted when trodden on. Sandman frowned with frustration as he could no longer see any sign of his brother. A faint cry drew his attention again, but it only caused him more frustration as there was still nothing to see. There were only twelve pins, if Benzedrine were there, he should have been able to see him.

“Silas?” he whispered trying not to draw the attention of the remaining four nightmares.

Benzedrine looked up, convinced he had heard his brother’s voice. Somehow it sounded different to the voices of the Nightmare Sandman, not so harsh perhaps. But it could only have been part of the dream. He pushed himself up from the floor, aching and dizzy after been unexpectedly thrown by one of the spinning discs into the side of one of the giant pins. As he rounded the pin, he gasped as he saw his brother scanning the area for him.

“Marcus? Is that really you?”  
“Silas!” Sandman cried joyfully, still keeping his voice low. “I’ve come to get you out of here.”

Allowing a wide grin to spread across his face, Benzedrine’s eyes began to well with tears. His brother cared about him, truly cared, it was more than he felt he could hope for. Moving forward carefully, Benzedrine stepped to the right of another spinning disc. As he did, he cried out in shock as the floor gave way beneath his feet and he crashed through, holding on with only his right arm and left hand.

“Silas!” Sandman cried, equally shocked as he ran forward to help. Treading on a spinning disc as he careered recklessly in to help, he was thrown to the side, crashing into another pin. Only feet away, Benzedrine cried out again in alarm as the floor crumbled under his left hand leaving him hanging by his right arm, which began to ache under the strain. Scrambling to his feet, Sandman ran, avoiding the discs, to his brother’s side and reached down to pull him back through the hole.

“Marcus, you… you’re…” Benzedrine was lost for words.  
“Come on, Silas, help me!” Sandman cried, no longer trying to keep his voice low.

Sandman grunted as he pulled with all his strength, finally allowing Benzedrine to get a better hold on the floor and haul himself to safety. Finally catching their breath, the brothers got to their feet only to find themselves surrounded. Looking around nervously, they saw that they had been confronted by all four remaining Nightmare Sandmen.

“So, Mr Sandman, you think you can let us down like this? Your own dreams!” said one.  
“You left us alive for one purpose only and we’re going to achieve that,” another spoke.  
“Can’t you control them?” Benzedrine asked nervously.  
“Not in here, not in a dream,” Sandman’s tone mirrored his own.

Sandman’s eyes widened with fear as one of the nightmares withdrew a small bottle from within his coat. It resembled an old-style perfume bottle, square but with rounded edges and a glass stopper in the top.

“What’s that? What’s wrong?” Benzedrine asked, worried by his reaction.  
“This?” the nightmare spoke as he held the bottle aloft. “This is a Dream Memory Bottle.”

Benzedrine watched, confused, as the nightmare pressed a small label on the front of the bottle and reached for the stopper.

“No!” Sandman yelled as the nightmare grinned at him. “No! NO!”

Too late; the stopper was removed. Mr Sandman seemed to stretch and elongate, screaming in pain as he did.

“What’s happening?” Benzedrine shouted over the noise. “What are you doing to him?”

Rushing forward, Benzedrine tried to snatch the bottle, only to be grabbed by one of the nightmares and held securely as to his disbelief, Sandman was sucked into the bottle.

“Once I replace the stopper, all he will be to you is someone you once dreamed about. No one from Carousel will remember he even existed, not even your father.”  
“No! Please! Let him go!” Benzedrine begged. “Don’t do that to him, please.”  
“To whom?” he asked as he fitted the stopper neatly into the bottle and slipped it back into his coat.

Benzedrine looked back blankly, unable to answer the question.

“I think it’s time you moved onto your next potential death-trap, don’t you?” said the one with the bottle as all four faded from sight.

Benzedrine was confused, something other than the nightmares trying to kill him had upset him, he could feel it, but he had no idea why. But this was no time to be distracted, he was trapped in the Fun House with no chance of rescue… There it was again, the feeling he should know something. It was frustrating. Forcing himself to brush it aside, he looked around for the exit and the deadly obstacles he would encounter on the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note - the Fun House is actually based on a real Fun House I enjoyed as a kid (it was somewhat less deadly though!) :) Hope you're enjoying this, feel free to leave a comment or something :)


	13. You look like someone I… have we met?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guys follow Mr Sandman into the dream only to find a very bewildered Dr Benzedrine

Dr Benzedrine took a step back in surprise as a whirl of green appeared in front of him. 

“D... Donnie?” he stammered. “How did you find me?”   
“Mr Crab knew where you were,” he explained, a little puzzled over the answer himself.   
“Mr Crab!” Benzedrine cried. “How... I mean... He sent you?”   
“Yeah, but what are you doing in the Dream World?” 

Benzedrine frowned; none of the replies that were coming to him made any sense. 

“He said two Normal Worlders were here and I had to help them. But I don't know why,” Benzedrine scoured his memory; it seemed to be full of gaps. “Donnie, I think I've forgotten something important.”   
“How did you get into this nightmare anyway?” Donnie continued his questions.   
Benzedrine shook his head. “I don't remember. There's something in here trying to kill me… I think… but I don't remember what.”   
“We'll get you out of here first, then we'll worry about that.”   
“We?” Benzedrine asked. 

Donnie smiled. “The two Normal Worlders you mentioned and two more. One second,” he said setting his balance as Joe came hurtling through the air. Catching him in one fluid movement, Donnie deposited Joe on the floor before resetting himself ready to catch Andy. 

“I'm never going to get used to that,” Joe complained as he gathered his wits.   
“You! You're not Mr Crab are you?” Benzedrine spat angrily. “You promised me the L word if I found Patrick and his friend, Pete. You lied to me!”   
“How do you know?” Joe asked surprised by the outburst.   
“Mr Crab would never need Donnie to catch him.”   
“You haven't seen him for generations, how do you know what he needs?” Joe replied indignantly.   
“Well... I... That's not the point! You're not him are you?”   
“No,” Joe sighed jabbing thumb in Mr Crab's direction, having seen him land neatly and gracefully alongside Donnie. “He is!” 

Benzedrine was dumbstruck. The real Mr H Shoe Crab, right there in front of him, helping to rescue him. It was unbelievable. 

“Okay, where is he?” Pete asked, drawing curious glances from Benzedrine and Donnie.   
“Who?” Benzedrine asked, as puzzled as Donnie by the question.   
“Mr Sandman?” Met with only blank stares, Pete tried again. “Your brother! The one that got us all into this mess.”   
“What are you talking about?” Benzedrine frowned. “I don't have a brother.” 

Pete turned swiftly to stare at Patrick who was equally dumbstruck. Looking back, Pete marched up to Benzedrine. 

“If this is some sort of trap, don't think we won't fight you!” he yelled jabbing a finger into Benzedrine's chest.   
“I know you… don't I?” Benzedrine replied, ignoring Pete's hectoring tone. “You look like someone I… have we met?”   
“Are you serious?” Pete's brow creased in confusion. “I remind you of your brother!”   
“I don't have…” Benzedrine yelled only to stop abruptly and stared at Donnie. “I did think I'd forgotten something. Could I really have…?”   
“He's Mr Sandman,” Pete explained, hoping for a glimmer of remembrance. “Marcus…”   
“Joshua,” Andy added.   
“Yeah! Marcus Joshua Sandman,” Pete glanced from Benzedrine to Donnie and back. “Don't either of you remember?” 

Having eyed the group during their conversation, but kept a close watch on the surrounding area, Andy stepped forward. 

“Guys, we're being watched. Don't look, but there's a balcony that runs all the way around this place and I've seen movement behind it, mostly shadows, but there's something or several somethings watching us.”   
“You think whatever's up there might have Mr Sandman?” Patrick whispered.   
“And done something to make them forget,” Andy concluded.   
“Well, how do we make them remember?” Joe asked trying hard not to look up and give it away that they knew of their presence.   
“Well, we know that what's here are Mr Sandman's own nightmares, so however they've done it is the same way he'd do it if he needed to,” Patrick suggested. 

All of them nodded, it made sense, but even if they could work out what had happened, how could they reverse it? 

“I think that's where I come in,” Mr Crab joined their huddle.   
“You remember him?” Pete asked hopefully.   
“No but your statements make sense. Donnie has spent a long time in the Dream World, I suggest you ask him.” 

Nodding at Mr Crab's idea, Patrick broke from the huddle. 

“Donnie, if you were trying to make someone be completely forgotten as if they had never existed, what would you do?”   
“I couldn't do that,” he shook his head.   
“Wouldn't or couldn't?”   
“Neither, but I don't have the power anyway,” he explained wondering what Patrick hoped to prove.   
“Does anyone?” Patrick pressed.   
“Only the Sandman,” Donnie replied.   
“So you do know there's a Mr Sandman?” Patrick frowned.   
“Of course I know!” Donnie replied indignantly. “There's always a Sandman, there has to be.” 

Patrick sighed; he was getting nowhere. 

“What would he do then?”   
“Well, he wouldn't do it either! It's immoral!”   
“But if he did, just if!”   
“He'd have to use a Dream Memory Bottle, it's the only way.”   
“What's that?” Patrick frowned.   
“When children are very small, they often have dreams that are far too vivid for their age. If left, the memory of the dream would scar them mentally for life. The Sandman would monitor the children's dreams and make sure that they didn't get something that would hurt them. If they do, he uses a Dream Memory Bottle to remove the memory of the dream. After twenty-four hours the dream dies and the bottle can be reused. But it would be impossible with a real person.”   
“What about a real person in a dream?” Patrick asked; Dream World possibilities were confusing to say the least.   
“Within a dream, then yes, it's possible,” Donnie conceded.   
“Okay, what if I were to tell you that, Dr Benzedrine was brought here by five nightmare versions of his brother and that he followed alone. Could they have captured him in one of those bottles?”   
“It's plausible,” Donnie agreed reluctantly.   
“You mean, I have a brother, but I've forgotten him?” Benzedrine asked miserably.   
“It's not your fault,” Pete replied kindly.   
“Donnie,” Mr Crab began, “describe the bottle to me. How does it work?”   
“Well, it's a small glass bottle with a glass stopper, in order to trap the dream, you label the bottle with the subject matter and take out the stopper. The dream is automatically sucked in.”   
“And to let it out, remove the stopper?” Mr Crab asked.   
“That's not enough, it's the label that holds it in place, if the label's removed then it can escape.” 

While Donnie and Mr Crab spoke, Andy's eyes were drawn upward again, widening as he saw a flurry of movement. 

“Lo…” 

Andy barely had a fraction of the warning out when from behind a long, spindly arm wrapped around him and a hand clamped firmly over his mouth. Slamming a foot backwards, Andy caught the nightmare on the shin only to remember when the movement was ineffectual that Mr Sandman wore bronze shin-guards. Andy continued to struggle as the remaining three nightmares swooped in on the rest of the group.   
Long emaciated fingers reached around each of their necks, gripping them in a firm, almost choking hold. Pushed to their knees, Joe and Pete were held by one nightmare, with Mr Crab and Donnie were in the grip of another. 

“How did you remember?” the one with the bottle hissed at Patrick. “Wait! Do we have two of you?” 

Looking from his right hand to his left and laughing loudly, the nightmare squeezed harder with his grip around their necks making them wince in pain. Clawing ineffectually at the fingers, both Patrick and Dr Benzedrine's faces were reddening as they struggled to breathe. 

“And there was I thinking that I only get to kill one of you!” the nightmare cackled. 

*

Mr Sandman stood inside the Dream Memory Bottle cursing his own stupidity. He should have known they would have pulled something like this – it was exactly what he should have done to them years ago. As it was, now he was trapped and his own nightmares could terrorise his brother all they wanted without fear of being stopped. Or could he? Could he still affect the world outside of the bottle? As long as he remained trapped inside the bottle, he only had twenty-four hours before he died. He would make those hours count.

“Here goes nothing,” he muttered to himself as he pressed his palms up against the glass and concentrated hard. 

Tiny sparks crackled from his fingers. He would normally use tricks such as this if he found someone falling too far into a dream state. Dr Benzedrine’s power to wake someone was impressive, but it was not limitless and sometimes, he had to prevent the slide into almost coma-like conditions. Sandman would have liked to have taken the credit for someone slipping so deep, but he knew that it was just in the nature of some people to take a dream too far, especially if they were enjoying it. Tiny electrical jolts would bring the person back to a normal dream state. Everyone thought the Sandman’s job was all about creating beautiful dreams for people to enjoy – literally a dream job – but Marcus J Sandman knew different. It required long hours of dream monitoring; with so many people to take care of all over Carousel, he frequently even had to slow time down so as to not miss anyone. With hundreds of weavers and spinners in his employ to watch over and take care of too, it was a full time job, all day and all night. He was one of the few people that truly knew the feeling that some nights were longer than others. Sometimes, he was left trying to remember what it felt like to sleep. Like Dr Benzedrine, he didn’t sleep, neither of them had since taking their positions. Sometimes he felt slightly envious of a world that closed its eyes each night to enjoy the dreams his team created.

He gasped with effort as the sparks finally made their way through the glass and prickled the body of the lead nightmare. With both his hands full, his fingers wrapped around the necks of Patrick and Benzedrine, the nightmare used his arm to rub at the odd sensation he felt against his skin. As he did so, one end of the label pressed against the bottle, the label that held Mr Sandman prisoner, began to peel back.

Sandman’s eyes widened with surprise and joy – there was hope yet! This was beyond expectation. It could only be luck, pure luck. He knew that luck on its own wasn’t enough, he would have to work hard, but if successful, he knew he owed a debt of gratitude to Mr Crab.

*

“Now then, what do we have here?” The nightmare with the bottle glanced around. “Two of you all,” he mused before staring menacingly at Pete and adding in a sinister tone, “and one of you.”  
“I’m not afraid of you!” Pete glowered in return, still pulling in a mixture of anger and desperation at the fingers around his neck.  
“Really?” the lead nightmare replied absently rubbing his arm against the odd prickling sensation inside his coat. “Well, I can tell you that you should be, but, first of all, you can tell me why I shouldn’t dispose of you too?”

At the words, Benzedrine allowed a soft whimper to escape his lips. The nightmare had just confirmed what the Normal Worlders had been telling him. He had a brother that he had been forced to forget. No amount of memory searching was helping, it seemed they had been quite thorough, but now, they were threatening the man who he knew looked like his brother. If he couldn’t help one, perhaps he could help the other?

“Leave him alone! It’s me you want and you’ve got me!” he shouted.  
“No! No!” Sandman shouted unheard within the glass bottle. “Not yet! Don’t give in just yet! Give me time to get out!” Glancing to his left, he saw the label half peeled away. “Damn it! Come on!”

In a jumbled mess of fear and frustration, Sandman released all his remaining energy as an electrical charge through his fingertips. With a yelp, the lead nightmare threw Patrick and Dr Benzedrine to the floor and pulled the bottle from inside his coat. As he did, Sandman’s eyes widened with astonishment and joy, as the peeled back sticky label caught the inside of the nightmare’s pocket and was ripped away. Reaching up, Mr Sandman pushed at the glass stopper in the bottle, only to realise at this late stage that he wasn’t tall enough to push it out. His eyes caught those of his own nightmare as, with a sneer, he produced another label.

“No!” Benzedrine screamed emphatically, already charging toward the nightmare and ploughing into his side causing him to drop the bottle. 

As the bottle skittered away, Sandman saw his brother viciously sideswiped, falling in a crumpled heap at the nightmare’s feet. Finally sliding to a halt, Sandman began kicking furiously at the stopper to free himself. Glancing to his left, he saw the lead nightmare advancing on him.

“Even if you get out of that bottle, you’re too weak to fight me, Sandman, I can feel it. You’ve wasted all your energy just to get free of that bottle. Like it or not, you’ll still be my prisoner.

The nightmare holding Andy snatched at Patrick only to miss as Andy kicked at him again. 

“Patrick!” Andy cried. “Do something!”

There was only one option open to him – help Mr Sandman get free from the bottle. Scrambling to his feet, Patrick bolted towards the bottle, hoping to reach it first and free the only one that could help them all. But it was as if the nightmare could see in all directions at once. As Patrick drew nearby, he threw out his arm without even turning his head and once more curled his fingers around Patrick’s neck, squeezing too hard for the singer to breathe. Sagging in his grip, Patrick couldn’t even hear his friends’ desperate cries for his safety. 

Finally kicking the stopper out of the bottle, Mr Sandman was sucked out of the bottle, screaming in pain and exhausted. Lying breathless and weak on the floor as he tried to gather his strength, Sandman looked up helplessly as the nightmare moved closer, dragging the barely conscious Patrick with him.


	14. Don’t underestimate hatred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick has been poisoned by hatred and the cure forces Mr Sandman to divulge something very painful

Easing himself slowly up onto one hand as he cleared his head, Dr Benzedrine stared in panic as the nightmare bore down on his brother. Pushing himself to his feet, Mr Sandman staggered backwards as he tried to set his balance. The effort of using his energy to send out the electric charges, the physical exertion of kicking out the stopper, then finally the torturous exit from the bottle itself, had disorientated and exhausted him. Now with barely the energy to stand, Mr Sandman hadn’t the strength to fight his hate-filled creation. 

Benzedrine rose to his feet; the fact that nothing made a move to stop him or restrain him in any way merely emphasised how little of a threat he was considered. But wasn’t it true? What could he do? He clearly couldn’t fight the creature; its strength was far greater than his own, one simple swipe with the back of his oversized hand had floored him. 

He had no powers in the Dream World. In Normal World or anywhere else in Carousel, he was able to trick people into forgetting they had seen him, or use his mind physically restrain someone. Patrick had seen both of those powers. But there was more; elsewhere, he could move at great speed, show unnatural strength and instil ideas into people’s thoughts telepathically. All of these and the dozen or so more powers and capabilities he possessed could have helped right now, but he had none of them in the Dream World. No, here he had only one ability; that of the bare basics of his job. He could wake someone up. Benzedrine’s brow furrowed. Yes, it was true that real people couldn’t be woken whilst inside the dream – they were no longer real, but what about the nightmares? Surely the opposite applied? Within the nightmare, they were the reality. They could be woken!

Stretching out his arm, Benzedrine pointed directly at the lead nightmare, now almost at his brother’s side. His other hand stretched out to the side, pointing in the general direction of the remaining three nightmares, still holding their captives.

“Time to wake up, boys!” he yelled with venom in his tone. 

A brilliant yellow-white light emanated from him – mainly from his hands, but the light seemed to spread over him like water. Benzedrine beamed with relief as the lead nightmare stopped in his tracks, staggering back a few paces, his fingers relinquishing their hold on Patrick as he stumbled. 

Wrenching the hand from around his neck as all the nightmares began to weaken, Pete ran forward, sliding to a skidding halt on the floor at Patrick’s side. 

“Trick? Are you okay? Can you hear me?” 

Anger bubbled within him as Pete received no reply from the now unconscious singer. Jumping up, Pete swung a vicious right hook into the twisted image of himself, watching with breathless pleasure at it spun to the floor and lay still. 

Joe was next to free himself, finally peeling back the long bony fingers of the nightmare that now almost appeared transparent. Racing to help Andy, Joe was surprised that the two-handed grip the creature had on his friend almost fell away as he approached.

Benzedrine grinned happily as all three nightmares off to his right collapsed to the floor, still bathed in the light being emitted from Benzedrine.

Sandman looked up towards the ceiling as he noticed a crack appearing, through it, he could see the tall trees of the forest peeping through.

“Silas!” he cried. “Hold it there! Don’t go any further, if you wake them fully, you’ll get us out, but they’ll escape back to the forest.”  
“What do I do?” Benzedrine asked with uncertainty.  
“Nothing, just hold them in pre-wakefulness, they can’t move. I’ll deal with them, like I should have done years ago.”

Pushing himself onto his knees, Sandman took a deep breath before rising unsteadily to his feet. Swaying momentarily, Sandman stumbled, only to find Donnie instantly at his side, supporting him by his arm.

“Always the greatest catcher,” he smiled before turning his attention to the nightmare lying near his feet. Extending his hand, he nodded, adding quietly. “Time to draw you back in.”

Slowly, the nightmare continued to fade, before appearing to nothing more than wispy smoke that seemed to be sucked toward Mr Sandman’s outstretched hand. Assisted by Donnie, the weary Sandman moved closer to the last three nightmares, each one in turn following in the same way as the first until they were all gone. 

Above them, the Fun House ceiling slowly faded, to be replaced by the dense dream forest. At the sight of finally returning to the safety of his home, Mr Sandman finally gave in to his exhaustion and passed out, crumpling against Donnie.

“I need help here!” Pete yelled, kneeling next to the still unconscious Patrick.  
“Silas?” Donnie prompted as he scooped Mr Sandman into his arms.  
“Is he okay?” Andy asked with a frown as Dr Benzedrine stooped to examine the singer.

Benzedrine gave a worried frown and heaved a deep sigh.

“He took a lot of the hatred that was meant for me.”  
“What do you mean?” Pete asked, puzzled by the statement.

Benzedrine pulled at Patrick’s shirt, revealing long purple web-like track marks extending from Patrick’s neck and down his arms.

“The nightmare was unable to distinguish between us. It didn’t seem to understand that Patrick wasn’t me. If it had done this to me… I… I don’t think I could have got us out. This would weaken me severely, but…”  
“But what?” Pete pressed, his voice raised partly with anger, partly with fear for what Benzedrine was going to say.  
“It’s like he’s been poisoned… well, that’s how you’d understand it, anyway.”  
“Poisoned?” Joe queried with disbelief. “By hatred?”  
“Don’t underestimate hatred,” Benzedrine replied not moving his eyes from Patrick.   
“Will he be okay?” Andy asked.  
“I need to get him to The Hills. My hospital’s there, and my father will know what to do.”  
“Don’t you? You’re a doctor… aren’t you?” Andy pressed, concerned that Benzedrine hadn’t answered his question.  
“Yes, I’m a doctor! But my father has much more experience with this sort of thing.”  
“Well, what are we waiting for then?” Pete asked urgently. “Let’s go.”  
“Donnie, can you bring Marcus, please? I need to know more about…” Benzedrine merely shrugged and nodded to end his sentence, which, somehow, Donnie seemed to understand, replying with a grim nod of his own.  
“About what?” Pete demanded.  
“About how much he hated me!” Benzedrine snapped bitterly. “Okay? Happy now?”  
“I’m sorry,” Pete whispered in reply, genuinely contrite. “But he doesn’t now. Doesn’t that help?”  
“Me or him?” Benzedrine sighed, nodding towards Patrick. “Let’s go,” he sighed despondently again. “Follow Donnie, he knows the way back.”

*

Mr Sandman started to wake. It had been so very long since he last slept that the experience of waking was completely alien to him. Slowly he opened his eyes before being suddenly gripped with panic. Sitting bolt upright, he looked around, his eyes wild and unseeing. It was only when a cool hand was pressed to his forehead and another pressed him gently back down onto the bed that he began to take in his surroundings. Eleanor, the Guv’nor’s wife, his mother, ran her thumb across his forehead soothingly.

“Shh,” she whispered again as she moved her hand to smooth his hair back. “You’ve been through a lot, you have to rest.”  
“Mother?” he blinked as he began to wake fully. Looking around the room, he could see he was lying in a hospital bed, in a quiet dimly lit, comfortable room. “Where’s Silas?”  
“He’s busy, sweetheart. You have to rest now, get your strength back.”  
“Busy?” Sandman asked, puzzled by the reply. “What’s going on? Where’s father? Or Donnie?”  
“Donnie will be here in a few minutes, he needs to ask you a few things, but until then…”

Sandman was already pushing the covers away and swinging his legs out of the bed. No longer listening to his mother’s protests, he was determined to find out what he was certain she wasn’t telling him. 

“Marcus, no!” she cried as he tried to push himself upright.   
“Didn’t your mother just tell you to stay put?” Donnie asked, catching Mr Sandman only inches from the floor as his legs collapsed from under him.  
“How do you do that?” Sandman smiled as he allowed Donnie to help him back up onto the bed. Leaving the pair to talk, Eleanor slipped quietly from the room.  
“It’s my job,” Donnie smiled as he pulled the sheets over Sandman’s bruised and battered form.  
“And you’re good at it,” Sandman smiled faintly in return before turning a more serious expression towards his friend. “Mother says you need something from me.”

Donnie looked down at his hands, as he nervously interlaced and released his fingers several times in quick succession.

“Donnie?” Sandman prompted. “What’s wrong?”  
“One of the Normal Worlders was infected with hatred from one of the nightmares,” Donnie explained quietly.  
“Which one?” Sandman asked equally quietly.  
“The one that had you in the bottle,” Donnie replied with a frown. “Does it matter?”  
Sandman offered a thin smile. “I meant which of the Normal Worlders?”  
“Oh,” Donnie replied with an embarrassed expression. “Patrick.”  
Sandman nodded knowingly. “Because…”

Closing his eyes in distress, Sandman knew what was coming.

“He… Silas… he needs to know, doesn’t he?”  
“Marcus, I’m really sorry… if there was any other way…”

Sandman nodded again; there was no way to avoid this most unpleasant of tasks. Even if the air was cleared now and there was understanding and forgiveness, Sandman knew he risked it all, the desperate fragility of it all, by having to show in graphic detail how much he had once hated his brother. The antidote to the poison depended on knowing the exact amount of hatred and just how concentrated it had been. Any attempt to disguise the truth or lessen the depiction of the quantity would result in the antidote being too weak. It would mean that Patrick would die. Someone from Carousel, they would be seriously ill, dangerously so, in fact. A Normal Worlder, on the other hand… well, it was difficult to predict the outcome, but it was safe to say that Patrick would stand no chance of survival without accurate information.

“This is my fault. My nightmares, my stupid feelings. I couldn’t have been more wrong about him if I’d tried. There’s not a single hateful feeling that I had that he deserved. Not one!”  
“Marcus, you’re not a bad man, neither is he. He’ll understand, I’m sure,” Donnie tried to remain optimistic.  
“Donnie, I have to show him… my own brother, who deserved none of this… I have to show him how much I hated him. I could lie about it, keep it small but if I don’t do this properly, Patrick’ll die.” Sandman paused. “And then, well then he’ll know I lied anyway! Not that I’m really thinking that’s a viable option.”  
“It’ll be okay, Marcus, I’m sure.”  
“Are you? Tell me, Donnie, does he like me?”  
“Like you?” Donnie frowned deeply as he stared at him. “He loves you!”  
“Then how can I do this to him? After all we’ve been through… how can I say this is how much I hated you? It’s… it…!” Sandman threw his head into his hand. “I don’t have the words to describe. Donnie, I can’t lose him again… I just can’t!”  
Donnie nodded sincerely. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask… how much?”

With a heavy sigh, Mr Sandman placed his palms together, one overlapping the other and began to conjure a small, dense, jet-black ball that glowed with a gold haze over its surface. Slowly the ball grew larger and larger until finally Mr Sandman wasn’t even able to cover it with his fingers.

“Marcus?” Donnie gasped, incredulous at the sheer size of the ball of hatred he had built up over the years.

Unable to look his friend in the eyes, Mr Sandman offered up the glowing black melon-sized orb.

“Here, take it,” Sandman’s eyes welled up at the sight of what he now viewed as a cancerous mass that had covered his heart and excluded his brother for what he now realised was no good reason at all. “Look at it! I don’t deserve his forgiveness anyway.”

Reaching for the heavy shimmering orb, Donnie frowned in sympathy as he noticed the silent tears spilling down Sandman’s face.

“At least it’s gone now,” he added comfortingly.


	15. A bit of luck?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are things looking any better for Patrick?

Now wearing a simple white lab coat that had been hastily donned over his torn and dirty clothes, Dr Benzedrine studied the chart before turning his attention to the bed’s occupant. Pushing his hand through his fine blond hair, he sighed heavily.

At the bedside, taking Patrick’s, temperature stood Lord Joshua. On the opposite side of the bed, refusing to leave, Pete sat on a visitor’s chair, one knee drawn up to his chest, his arms crossed around it. Sitting in silence, he rocked slightly back and forth on the chair waiting in quiet impatience for any good news.

“Thirty-six,” Lord Joshua frowned. “What’s normal for these people?”  
“These people?” Pete snapped, scowling at the insensitive phrasing.  
“I’m sorry,” he conceded with a slight nod, “I don’t know how to refer to you.”

A moment’s pause confirmed in Pete’s mind that there wasn’t a simple phrase that even he could think of. One thing he was sure of – he was not particularly enamoured of being called a Normal Worlder either.

“No, you’re right, sorry, I’m just…” Pete shook his head; it was irrelevant. “It’s thirty-seven, typically, but he’s usually about thirty-six-point-eight.”  
“That’s very precise,” Lord Joshua raised an eyebrow.”  
“We always have to have medicals before a tour; he’s always the same temperature, without fail. It’s a bit of a running joke. We fluctuate a little, but he never does.”  
“I’d expect it to drop a little, so I’m not worried.”  
“Would you be if it was your son in that bed, not just someone who looks like him?” Pete quizzed him with an unintentionally harsh tone.  
“That’s not fair!” Benzedrine cried, replacing the chart on the end of the bed and walking to join his father.  
“Actually,” Lord Joshua spoke slowly, “it is. In fact, it’s a very fair question.”   
“Well?” Pete pushed glumly.  
“This young man had more reason than any of you not to help my boy…”  
“Father!” Benzedrine intended to object yet somehow the conviction was missing from his tone. The word was almost spoken out of feeling obliged to protest but felt he truly had no right.  
“Silas,” Lord Joshua raised an eyebrow as he turned his head to look down at the weary young man. “You used your powers to scare and intimidate him into doing what you wanted, you even threatened him, didn’t you?”  
“How did… how…?” Benzedrine stammered wondering how he could possibly have known.  
“Don’t underestimate me, Silas,” Lord Joshua shook his head. “But when you needed his help, he didn’t hesitate, none of them did.”  
“It wasn’t just me,” Benzedrine protested, but even if he did, he knew the argument would carry no weight with his father.  
“I know! I’ll be punishing Marcus too, don’t imagine I’ve overlooked anything!”  
“Punishment?” Benzedrine asked nervously; the wealth of possibilities available to Lord Joshua to make his and Sandman’s lives miserable was numerous indeed.  
“But for now, this young man is more important. Now, go find out what’s keeping Donnie; we need that information.”

Lord Joshua heard a choked gasp behind him and opposite he saw Pete’s eyebrows raised in impressed curiosity. Turning, he saw Donnie, standing just inside the open doorway, unable to raise his eyes to meet Benzedrine’s. In his hands the large melon-sized ball of hate pulsated gently in his hands.

“Damn!” Lord Joshua whispered as his eyes moved from the black, shimmering ball to the pale, shocked features of his son. “Silas,” he began comfortingly. “I can take it from here.”  
“No,” Benzedrine struggled to find his voice, even for that one word. Clearing his throat, Benzedrine nodded slowly, trying hard to dispel the stinging sensation behind his eyes and trying to swallow the lump that was threatening to choke him. “I’m okay.”

An awkward silence hung in the air, even Pete, who hadn’t the slightest clue what was happening, realised that now was a good time to remain silent. Overcoming his curiosity over the purpose of the glowing ball, Pete rose to his feet and walked to the now visibly trembling Dr Benzedrine.

“What can I do to help?” he asked giving the man’s shoulders a gentle squeeze.  
“Er… yeah… I…” Benzedrine paused trying to control his breathing and racing thoughts. “There’s a machine in the corner of the room, Donnie knows how to use it, but he’ll need to recalibrate it first, it’s ah… a little more than… it’s a two man job.”  
“What about you? What will you do?” Pete rested his hand on Benzedrine’s arm.  
“Me?” Benzedrine glanced back towards Patrick, still unconscious and hooked to a ventilator. “I need to get more ingredients for the antidote. I don’t think I have enough.”  
“Will that take long?” Pete asked with concern.  
“Oh, no,” Benzedrine shook his head raising a faint smile from Pete as he noticed the doctor was no longer trembling and seemed more able to concentrate. “We have it in stock, I just need to get more. Pete…” Benzedrine paused. “He’ll be okay, I’ll make sure of it. I won’t let anything happen to him.”  
“Thank you,” Pete’s smile broadened and he patted Benzedrine’s arm reassuringly. “I’ll help Donnie.”

Watching as his son left the room, Lord Joshua joined the pair at the machine in the corner of the room.

“Is he sure about this?” Lord Joshua asked with a deep frown.  
“Sure enough to be utterly crushed. I’ve never seen him so unhappy. I’ve never seen anyone so unhappy!” Donnie replied shaking his head, distraught at the memory.  
“I was so wrong to deal with it the way I did. I thought keeping them from hurting each other physically they would work things out eventually. I just made things worse.”   
“What’s that black thing?” Pete finally asked the question he had wanted to ask since he saw it.  
“That’s how much he hates me,” Benzedrine replied.

All three men turned to face the newly returned Benzedrine, his arms full of jars and bottles. Suddenly feeling self conscious and realising that they could see that his eyes were red and slightly puffy, Benzedrine turned to the table near the wall and placed the bottles down on a clear area.

“What do you mean? How much he hates you?”  
“Pete,” Donnie warned. “Leave it. I’ll explain as we measure it.”

Pete frowned as Donnie pulled him to the back of the room. He hated feeling like that they were walking on eggshells round Benzedrine. He wanted to help and pretending not to notice couldn’t do it. If he was anything like Patrick, he knew exactly what to do.

“Look… Silas,” Pete began, joining him at the table. “I can’t pretend that I know how it feels to see so graphically how much someone hated you, but I know how much that same person loves you now and if he could make a ball to show that, it’d be way bigger than that! Okay, so he screwed up. He’s like me. I make the worst mistakes, I overreact, I get into situations that I can’t handle and I usually come out worse, physically, emotionally or both. And maybe this is one of those times for him, but he loves you more than he could possible show you. Don’t dwell on this. It’s not even real any more.”

Benzedrine’s throat tightened at the words. Nodding briefly, he took a sharp intake of breath before throwing his arms around Pete and pulling him into a tight hug.

“Thank you,” Benzedrine’s voice was muffled as he spoke with his face buried in Pete’s shoulder.

Almost immediately, an alarm sounded next to the bed. Pulling back, Benzedrine’s eyes widened in shock.

“No! This shouldn’t be happening!”  
“What? What’s happening?” Pete’s tone mirrored Benzedrine’s.  
“Silas, start mixing the antidote. Donnie, calibrate and measure size, weight and density, I want a Concentration reading in the next two minutes,” Lord Joshua barked orders.

Filling a large syringe with a clear liquid, Lord Joshua started the injection into Patrick’s neck, made all the more difficult as the singer began to convulse. The network of purple strangling his veins now reached down his chest and back and up his neck as far as his chin. The injection arrested the spread of the purple threads upwards, shutting off the alarm as he slowly settled once more.

“That’s the last injection I can give him, we need the antidote, quickly! If they reach his brain, that’s it, we can’t stop it.” Lord Joshua alerted them, grimly.

*

Joe glanced towards the door to the waiting room for the third time, frowning as he saw Lord Joshua’s Aide standing stoically, his arms folded across his chest and staring straight ahead.

“Is he doing what I think he’s doing?” Joe whispered to his companions.  
Andy glanced over the rim of his glasses towards the door. “You mean, is he keeping us in here?”  
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean,” Joe leaned in to the small huddle.  
“I’m afraid he is,” Mr Crab announced. “But I’m not convinced there’s anything particularly sinister about it, I think he’s just been asked to make us wait while they treat Patrick and he’s just being very officious about it.”

Joe frowned, unimpressed with the explanation. It wasn’t as if he could go anywhere even if he wanted to. He had no idea where Patrick’s room was but he was consoled by the fact that Pete had insisted on going with him. At first it had seemed strange to him that they had put up no resistance to Pete being present, but he had since realised that someone had to be there to answer any questions they had over Patrick’s general health. Regardless of the strange nature of the medical condition, they were doctors and would need to establish patient history. It wouldn’t have mattered who had gone with them, they all knew each other very well. In particular, the medicals that were required before tours meant that medical histories were not only well known within the band, but also frequently a great source of amusement and teasing. But Pete, being Pete, had insisted and got his way.

Joe had been surprised and also quietly relieved to hear that both Benzedrine and Joshua were doctors, it gave Patrick not just one, but two people personally invested in making him well again. It mattered to both of them that he survived. Even as he thought the word, he pulled his lips into a thin worried frown; the alternative was something that he didn’t even want to contemplate.

“Joe?” Mr Crab began gently. “Are you okay?”

Deep in thought, the voice had only just penetrated his conscious mind and Joe found himself blinking to rouse himself from his reverie.

“Hmm?”  
“I said, are you okay?”  
“I was thinking about Patrick,” Joe replied, frowning as he realised how obvious a statement that was and that it came nowhere near answering the question.  
“Can’t you do anything?” Andy blurted, before correcting himself to sound less abrupt. “I’m sorry, I mean, can you use luck to help him?”  
“At last! I thought you’d never ask!” Mr Crab sighed.  
Andy frowned almost angrily. “Why didn’t you offer? You did before.”  
“No, if you remember, when we were in the nightmare, my initial contribution was a perfectly practical suggestion to ask Donnie what he knew about Dream Bottles. It was Donnie who eventually asked me for some luck.”  
“Well… why…” Andy began, stopping when he realised he didn’t know precisely what to ask.  
“I can’t offer luck, and it’s not enough to want it, you have to ask for it,” Mr Crab explained.  
“You couldn’t just have told us that?” Joe asked frustrated that it had taken so long for one of them to ask the right question.  
“Not really, that’s tantamount to offering. If I did that, it wouldn’t work.”  
“Oh,” came the reply from both band members, almost in unison. “Well, what can you do?” Joe continued.  
“I need to know exactly how they’re going to cure him. And, this could be the trickiest part – I need to get out of here and find them.”  
“I don’t think he’s planning on letting us out any time soon,” Andy remarked on the Aide standing, apparently immovable, blocking the exit.  
“Well, is it not possible that with a bit of luck that nice gentleman will not only let us out, but take us straight there?” Joe asked with a hopeful grin.  
“I think you might be right!” Mr Crab replied with a mischievous smile that matched Joe’s own. 

*

Patrick alternately shivered and flushed red as his temperature fluctuated wildly and he was shaking again. The purple threads running under his skin had reached his fingers and the tops of his thighs. Only the last injection was preventing them creeping further up his neck towards his brain.

Joshua turned to face Donnie and Benzedrine, both working at a furious pace to make the antidote.

“How are we doing?” he asked urgently.

Benzedrine looked up first.

“I think I’ve made enough, but I need the information to get the right dosage. The infection is so severe now that even a few milligrams out either way could be disastrous.”  
“Hmm, okay.” Joshua was non-committal. He didn’t like the amount of strain his son was under. He could see the panic in Benzedrine’s eyes; this man mattered to him much more than a normal patient would. Patrick was now dangerously ill and Joshua simply did not want to think about the possible affect on his son if they were unable to save him. “Donnie?” he prompted hoping for good news.

Donnie looked up, his expression was one of sheer exasperation and alarm.

“What?” Joshua asked with trepidation. The feeling that they were all about to be presented with bad news washed over him. “Donnie?”  
“We can’t calibrate it!” he complained, his tone edged almost with panic. “It’s too big, the settings just can’t handle it. The best I can do is give you the maximum reading I have and tell you it’s at least that.”  
“What!” Joshua stormed towards Donnie. “That’s not possible, when I was infected Silas figured it out and it was bigger than that!”  
“Well, I don’t know!” Donnie snapped in his own defence. “You do it then! I’ve tried everything and I can’t get a simple reading off it.”  
“No, Father, you’re wrong,” Benzedrine began, his voice sounded distant and weak at Donnie’s announcement. “Yours was cumulative, from your entire council. All of yours were individual and quite small, but collectively much worse. I was able to calibrate each one separately, but this is different. This is just one man’s… just one concentrated mass. It’s too big for the device.”  
“What then?” Joshua prompted. “Any ideas?”

Benzedrine frowned as he turned his gazed to Patrick, spying one of the purple threads poking out from one of his sideburns and reaching across his cheek. Only seconds later the alarm sounded once more.

“I don’t have a choice,” he said miserably. “I have to guess.”  
“Guess!” Pete cried in alarm at the suggestion; rushing forward he gripped Benzedrine’s arm. “You just said that the slightest mistake could kill him!”

Swallowing hard and with the briefest of nods, Benzedrine peeled Pete’s fingers away. 

“If I do nothing, in three minutes he’ll be dead anyway.”


	16. Silas Gets Sassy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Change is in the air

Pete’s face fell at the news; a combination of shock and fear gripping him and displaying graphically in his expression. His eyes welled up as he stared at Benzedrine; the man looked and sounded so much like Patrick and Pete knew all too well that the nightmare’s hatred had been meant for him. His mind was in turmoil. He didn’t want to blame Benzedrine. Blame suggested that it could have been avoided somehow and he simply didn’t want to contemplate the idea that if he or someone else had made different decisions, that Patrick wouldn’t be suffering right now. Blame didn’t help; it just ate away at your soul and destroyed you from the inside out. Neither did he want to wish that it was Benzedrine dying instead, but he couldn’t help the thought creeping into his mind and he hated himself for it. Looking into the doctor’s eyes, he could see the pain reflected back.

“Do your best,” he whispered, giving Benzedrine a light squeeze on his arm.

A scuffling of feet running down the corridor made each of them turn, all except Benzedrine who was now measuring out his best guess at the correct dose. He knew from experience that the antidote to the hatred didn’t necessarily increase linearly – a ball of hatred could be twice the size of another but require three times the dose due to the density. But too much of a dose was as bad as too little. It had to be exactly right.

“Mr Crab is here to help!” Joe blurted as he Andy and Mr Crab skidded to a halt at the entrance to the room. “You know, with some luck.”

Benzedrine turned grateful eyes towards the group standing in the doorway. He hadn’t asked for help earlier, there hadn’t been any apparent need. If everything had worked, he would have simply calculated the correct dose and administered it. There had been no need for luck. But now, when it came down to pure guesswork, he desperately needed it.

“I can’t calculate the dosage,” Benzedrine explained quickly. “I need luck to guess it. May I have some, please, Mr Crab?”  
“Measure your dose,” Mr Crab responded immediately with a firm nod.

Benzedrine looked down at the large quantity of the antidote he had already mixed. Frowning as he looked at it, he knew immediately that something felt wrong. He had prepared three different sizes of syringe and had the very largest of them in his hand as he stared for a few brief moments at the bottle. Placing the hypodermic back on the table, Benzedrine reached for the smallest of all the syringes and extracting only a small amount from the bottle, Benzedrine headed toward Patrick.

“Silas, are you sure that’s enough?” Joshua asked worriedly.

Benzedrine wasn’t sure of anything, all he knew was that it felt right. He couldn’t begin to explain it so he opted not even to try. Piercing Patrick’s skin with the needle, Benzedrine almost heard the whole room hold its collective breath. Removing the syringe, Benzedrine waited, staring intensely at Patrick, not daring to look away for fear of catching someone else’s eye. Moments later, he felt an arm slip around his shoulder as his father drew close. Whatever happened now, he would need his family more than ever and he was grateful for his father’s comfort.

“Did it work?” Pete asked quietly, scarcely above a whisper.  
“I don’t know,” Benzedrine replied, barely audible.

Moments passed, minutes passed and they all continued to stare.

“You said… before… minutes. Is he okay?”

Suddenly exhaling in sheer relief, Benzedrine pointed to the purple marks as at first they seemed to retreat, then eventually fade from view. Finally, Patrick’s eyes opened slightly and a weak sigh escaped his lips.

“Patrick!” Pete cried rushing forward and almost flopping heavily on Patrick’s chest. Protesting weakly, Patrick went unheard over the muffled sobbing of his worried friend.

“Pete,” Benzedrine pulled gently at Pete’s arm, “you have to let him rest.”

Looking up, Pete seemed almost as exhausted as Benzedrine. The pair stared at each other in mutual respect before Pete straightened up and offered a hand to Benzedrine.

“You did it,” he grinned as Patrick drifted into a calm renewing sleep, carefully monitored by Joshua.  
“How did you know?” Andy began. “The dose, I mean.”  
“Luck,” Benzedrine grinned shyly, offering Mr Crab a mouthed ‘thank you’.  
“No, how did you know how much to give?”  
“I told you – luck!”  
“You’re missing the point,” Andy pressed. “You thought it was a very large dose and changed your mind. Why?”  
“Break it in two,” Benzedrine suggested.

Donnie looked down at the glowing black orb before looking back at Benzedrine, more than a little confused.

“It’ll change its density,” Donnie argued.  
“It’s okay, we don’t need it now,” Benzedrine nodded his encouragement. “Break it in two.”

Reaching in a drawer for a laser cutter, Donnie made an incision into the sphere and immediately gasped his surprise as the two sections fell apart – two halves of a shell.

“It’s hollow!” he cried, taken aback by the discovery.  
“What does that mean?” asked Joe, looking from Benzedrine to Donnie.  
“It means that although he felt he had a lot of hatred, it was just on the surface,” Joshua explained. “There was no depth or substance to it. Just a veneer over his real feelings. It doesn’t surprise me – it’s the way he’s always dealt with things. Cover up, hide, protect. He’s managed to misread so many signs over the years that he’s convinced himself that you hated him. This was his response – an elaborate, yet thin veil of a feeling conjured up to mask his real pain.”

Pete looked with a worried expression at Benzedrine who wore a thin, faint smile that looked almost too fragile to be genuine. He should have been happy at the news – Sandman hadn’t hated him, he had just managed to fool himself into believing it! But the odd frown that was now forming shook him deeply.

“Silas?” Pete asked gently.

It could have been the wrong thing to say, or it could have been exactly the right trigger depending on the outlook, but either way, his name called in the familiar voice sent Benzedrine to his knees, followed by gut wrenching sobs and a torrent of tears.

Joshua knelt at his son’s side and pulled him close, trying hard to still the shaking in his shoulders as he finally gave in to his pent up pain and fears.

“Donnie,” Joshua spoke quietly. “Get a nurse for Patrick, constant coverage. And…” he sighed as he pulled Benzedrine comfortingly closer. “Everyone, please go back to the waiting room. This should be private.”

It took only a few moments for the room to clear. Even Pete, who had earlier refused to leave Patrick’s bedside, knew that some moments were best handled privately. Now helping to clear the room, Pete allowed himself a small sigh of relief. Not only was Patrick now recovering, but he was hopeful that this latest discovery might even help to mend the brother’s long-term and apparently nonsensical feud. Pete knew also that he wouldn’t be alone in his thoughts – they had all grown strangely fond of the brothers and their strange friends; a feeling they now realised was mutual.

 

*

Silas P Benzedrine was exhausted, as was the whole of Carousel, but for different reasons. Not commenting on the fact that he knew the reason why no one at all had managed to get any sleep at all the previous night, Lord Joshua had pronounced a holiday allowing people to at least rest and recuperate if not sleep. No, there would be no sleep available for at least a few hours yet. Lord Joshua had dispatched Donnie to the Dream World, with sufficient powers to grant dreamless sleep to everyone that wanted or needed it. There were strict instructions and procedures to follow and Donnie would be the first to admit that he was nervous about taking on the role, even temporarily. There were so many checks to perform to make sure that people only slept where and when it was safe to do so. Lord Joshua understood Donnie's concerns, it was good that he was concerned - overconfidence was more likely to cause mistakes than underconfidence. But he reassured him. He trusted him. But, to ease the pressure on him, he had also arranged for Mr Sandman's Chief Weaver and Chief Spinner to be available to assist him. 

That just left Benzedrine, exhausted and drained, emotionally rather than physically. That was much harder to deal with. Knocking on the door of his office at the hospital, Lord Joshua waited patiently for a reply but on receiving none, tried the handle anyway. Inside, Benzedrine sat on the wide window seat, his knees drawn up near his chest. Not even turning when the door opened, he continued to gaze vacantly out of the window. Focussing on nothing, he had been reflecting silently on recent and some not so recent events. His father noted that he had showered and changed, but something seemed wrong. The normally immaculately dressed man was much more casually attired than usual, almost as if it had been too much of an effort. His hat rested on his desk and his tailcoat was draped over the back of his chair. This in itself didn't seem too unusual, but his waistcoat fell unbuttoned, his bow tie was nowhere to be seen and the top button of his shirt was unfastened. Perhaps the most telling sign that something was wrong was the lack of make up anywhere on Benzedrine's normally artificially pale face. 

“Silas?” Lord Joshua opened.   
“What?” Benzedrine asked quietly without even turning, leaving his unfocussed eyes resting on the middle distance somewhere beyond the fairground rides.   
“Silas,” Lord Joshua repeated, this time with more insistence.   
“I said `what'?” Benzedrine almost snapped, but his tone sounded mostly tired.   
“I know you've been under a lot of strain lately, so I'm going to let that go, but I'm not leaving here until you talk to me.”   
“I'm leaving The Hills,” Benzedrine announced firmly, still without looking away from the window.   
“Leaving? I see,” Lord Joshua replied. 

Benzedrine dropped his head forward so that his forehead rested on his knees, letting out a cry of frustration as he did. 

“Nothing touches you, does it?” he yelled as, finally, he looked over at his father. Waiting a few moments, Benzedrine swung his legs off the window seat as he received no response. “You've kept me here all this time, looking after you, even though you've been cured of the hatred your Council infected you with years ago… decades ago! And now when I say I'm leaving all you can say is `I see'!”   
“What do you want me to say?” Lord Joshua asked evenly.   
“What do I want? Are you serious? I want a real reaction! Something! Anything! I don't know… I guess I just expected you to care… even a little.”   
“You want to know what I really think?”   
“Oh, don't go to any trouble,” Benzedrine replied bitterly.   
“Silas, my little boys grew up a long time ago and it was hard for me to accept that, much harder for me that it was for your mother, in fact. In many respects, your mother has had to deal with three boys. I haven't been the best husband and I certainly haven't been the best father, but none of it was out of malice. I've been very selfish. After Marcus went to the Dream World, I couldn't lose you too. I worked hard to make you feel guilty enough to stay, and stay close at that. When I became ill, I needed you more than I ever have and we grew closer than we ever had. You saved my life, but that only made me need you more. I began to teach you how to take over from me because it was another way to keep you here. By rights, as the eldest, it should have been your brother, but he was never going to leave, he's not the travelling type. He barely wanted to go to the Dream World, but I knew he'd love it once he was there. But you, my dear, Silas, I have knowingly ruined all of your plans and dreams for my own selfish ends, all because I love you and can't bear to let you go. Now you tell me that you're leaving and I can only say `I see' because in my heart of hearts, I can't encourage you to go, but I can't ask you to stay again. I've hurt you enough.” 

Benzedrine stood perfectly still, his mouth opened slightly in shock. It seemed a very long time that he stood, unmoving and unable to speak. He had never heard his father be so open and honest with him. It was a shock, but a welcome one. He had often wondered why his father had refused to let him leave and had always assumed the worst - imagining that he had no interest in his son's needs and considered them and him almost worthless compared with his own. Now to have this unreserved apology and confession was more than he could have hoped for. On some level, perhaps he knew? He had always loved his father and sought his affection and approval. Having had, he believed, neither for so many years, it was quite a shock to have it all handed to him so completely. 

He didn't remember running, he didn't even remember starting to cry again but he would always remember the feel of his father's comforting arms wrapped around him and his voice telling him over and over that he loved him and how sorry he was for everything. For the first time in decades his family was reuniting. He was beginning to feel whole again.


	17. That black glowing thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Patrick be okay? Will the brothers make up? Will the guys get home? Read on...

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Mr Sandman turned sharply, surprised to have been caught in the act of dressing. Having retrieved Pete’s borrowed clothes from the dream he had stored them in, he was now almost dressed and wishing he hadn’t returned his shoes to him. Standing in the jeans and shirt with the hoodie in his hands, Sandman looked straight into his mother’s eyes and tried to lie.

“No,” he began, trying to sound as convincing as he could. “I’m Pete.”  
“Oh, I’m sorry, _Pete_ ,” she smiled. “Do you have a few minutes? I need to talk to someone.”

Sandman smiled thinly in return; had she really accepted that he was Pete? It seemed unlikely by the way she had answered, but it was just about possible that he had pulled it off. Just about, maybe?

“What about?” he asked with uncertainty as he pulled on the hoodie.  
“About my son, I’m worried about him.”  
“Which one?”  
“As I’m sure you’ll know, _Pete_ , I worry about both my sons.”  
“Yeah? Do you ever tell them?” Sandman asked grumpily.  
“It’s what I came here to do, but I have a feeling that Marcus wouldn’t be interested in hearing it.”  
“What! Why?” Sandman replied indignantly before continuing with a forced even tone. “Er… what makes you think that?”  
“Oh, you don’t know what he’s like,” Eleanor replied, lowering her eyes to keep herself from laughing her son’s ungracious expression.  
“No, I don’t,” he blurted. “And I don’t want to!” He shook his head as he took a few paces towards the door. “Look, maybe I’m not the right person,” he added more calmly.

Placing a hand on his chest, Eleanor stopped him in his tracks instantly. A warmth radiated out from her palm, and as it spread it seemed to lock his muscles leaving him standing beside her utterly unable to move. If this were happening in the Dream World, he would easily have been able to counter her move and break free, but in The Hills, he was powerless. The only thing he would physically be able to do would be to send her to sleep, but without the use of his hands, he was unable even to do that.

“Now then, Marcus, now that I have your full attention, I’ll ask you again: where do you think you’re going?”

Eleanor could feel him straining against the energy with which she held him and his efforts raised a smile to her face. If nothing else, she noted, he was determined to try to avoid this conversation.

“Marcus,” she began sternly remaining close beside him in an almost intimidating fashion. If she had been anyone else but his mother, the situation may well have unnerved him. “You know as well as I do that even in the best of health you couldn’t break free – certainly not here in The Hills, probably not even in the Dream World.”  
“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Sandman tried hard not to sound threatening, but he was keen to affirm his superiority in his own district.

Eleanor smiled broadly at her son’s reply. Little had changed since he was a small boy. He was still hot-headed, impetuous and fiercely territorial and she knew that her next comment would only provoke him more but she knew that there were things he had to hear, things he wouldn’t want to hear and he had to face them, whether he liked it or not.

“You should accept that we’re going to talk and get over it or you’re going to exhaust yourself again. Donnie can only stand in for you so long.”  
“Donnie! Donnie’s doing my job?” Sandman struggled harder against the restraining energy binding each of his muscles, but the more he tried to break free the more her grip on him tightened. “You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?” he gasped finally, realising that she was using his own energy against him.  
“Of course I am, dear,” she replied. Taking a seat, she crossed her legs and settled back in the chair.  
“All right! All right! You win! You want to know where I was going? I was going home.”  
"Going home?" Eleanor raised an eyebrow at Mr Sandman registering both her surprise and disapproval.  
"Where else would I go?" he grumbled.

Eleanor rose elegantly from the chair and walked slowly around Sandman, still held in position, unable even to turn his head to follow the circle she made around him.

"Well, you don't actually have to go anywhere."

It was a simple statement and very possibly an invitation but Sandman's obstinate pride refused to let him see it.

"You said it yourself - Donnie can't do my job for long."

Even as he said it, Sandman was cursing himself for allowing his confusion and bitterness to spill into the conversation with his mother. She didn't deserve it.  None of them did, but he had harboured these feelings for so long it was actually hard to let go. It was especially diificult for him when she looked up to meet his gaze only to see the hurt in her eyes. The heavy-lidded narrowness of her eyes suggested that she had perhaps been crying. Or it was just possible that she was merely suffering from a lack of sleep, but there was a distance and hollowness in her stare that suggested otherwise.

"I'm sorry," he murmured before repeating himself with more conviction. "I just don't know what to do. I've... I've found out things that make me feel... I'm ashamed of how I've behaved... Things I've done... said. I... I don't know how to fix them. I don't know what to do."  
"What did you used to do when you were a boy?" she asked with a smile.  
"I'm not a little boy any more," Sandman replied indignantly.  
"No," she agreed. "You're a grown man afraid to face your fears!"  
"That's not fair!" he protested.  
"Oh, but it is, Marcus!" Eleanor rounded on him again, now standing face to face with him and staring with a look of steely determination. "You said it yourself. You're ashamed, you don't know what to do. So what do I find? Are you coming to me to help you work this out, like you used to or are you trying go sneak out to head home before you're forced to deal with a real problem?"

Sandman nodded almost imperceptively, partly because of the restriction on his movement and partly because he had retreated inside himself.

"What can I do? I can't face anyone."

Eleanor brushed a few strands of hair away from his eyes.

"You mean, you don't want to?"  
Sandman exhaled noisily. "I mean I'm scared."  
"What of?" Eleanor pressed, sensing a breakthrough.  
"I haven't spoken to him for so long. I've shown him how much I hated him and now... Now I need to apologise. But I'm scared."  
"What of?" she asked again.  
"That he'll push me away."  
"Why do you think he'll do that?"  
Sandman lowered his eyes dejectedly. "Because I deserve it."

Suddenly able to move, Sandman turned an expectant gaze towards his mother.

"You know what you have to do," she nodded kindly. "But first, sweetheart, please put your own clothes on. You look very strange dressed like that."

Sandman smiled as he thought of what Pete's reaction to that statement would be. Nodding gravely, Sandman sighed.

"Wish me luck?" he asked giving her a gentle hug.

Eleanor smiled and nodded, watching as he left the room.

"I'm hoping you're not going to need it," she added as he went out of earshot.

*

Joe, Andy and Pete had each been allocated empty rooms in the large hospital and although it had taken a great deal of convincing, Pete had finally agreed to go to his and get some rest. Despite being certain that he wouldn’t easily be able to relax, the bassist found that a deep restful sleep caught up with him much quicker than he had expected. Joe, on the other hand, well, he fought the urge to rest. Thinking that someone should stay with Patrick but that his friends needed to rest, he quietly returned to Patrick’s room.

“I see you don’t take your own advice either,”

At the words, Andy looked up, greeting Joe with a lopsided grin.

“Or yours,” he agreed with a smile. “Get some sleep, Joe. If you like, you can come back in a few hours and we’ll swap.”  
“Okay, but if I don’t, come and get me, yeah?”  
“Definitely! I’m not going to be the only one around here that gets no sleep.”  
“Okay, I’ll see you in a couple of hours,” Joe offered a vague wave as he headed back to his room.

*

“How is he?”

Andy jerked his head up as the voice stirred him from a light sleep. Still in the chair at Patrick’s side, Andy didn’t recall even feeling excessively sleepy. Neither did he have any idea how long he had been sitting there. As his bleary eyes focused, he was surprised to see Mr Sandman standing alongside him, next to the bed. Taking a brief look at Patrick and the monitors, he gathered enough information to enable him to reply.

“No change,” he answered with a faint sigh. “But no worse,” he added with a hopeful smile.  
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Sandman nodded slowly. “Silas... he’s a good doctor. And, he’s sleeping, it’s very therapeutic, sleep, you know?”  
“Is he dreaming?” Andy asked.  
Sandman tilted his head as he tried to read Patrick’s sleep. “No, not yet,” he replied after a moment’s pause.  
“Can you give him a dream? A nice one?”

Sandman smiled to himself. They all resembled their counterparts in more than looks. It was typical of Donnie to be thoughtful and care for the comfort of his friends. And here was Andy doing exactly the same thing.

“Yes, I can do that,” he replied, waving his palm briefly over Patrick’s eyes. “When he’s ready to dream, it’ll be whatever he wants.”  
“Can I ask you something… it might be personal,” Andy ventured.  
“Go on,” Sandman replied with a certain amount of trepidation.  
“That black glowing thing,” Andy began tentatively.  
“I don’t even want to think about it,” Sandman sighed, his voice dropping a tone. “I certainly don’t want to talk about it.”  
“Perhaps not, but I’d like to,” came a quiet yet firm voice from the doorway.

Sandman turned slowly. He didn’t need to look, he knew exactly who it was. Only two people had that voice and one of them lay unconscious on the bed at his side.

“Silas?” his voice had dropped almost to a whisper. “I… I can’t… I mean… I…”  
“Andy,” Benzedrine began, not taking his eyes off Sandman for a moment. “Can we have the room, please?”  
“Well…” Andy replied with an uncertain tone.  
“I’ll look after Patrick, don’t worry.” After a brief pause, Benzedrine continued his voice sounding increasingly tense. “Andy, please.”  
“Sure, yeah, sorry,” Andy replied, rising from the chair. “I’ll be in my room.”  
“Thank you.”

The door closed behind Andy and tension in the room thickened almost immediately as the two brothers stared at each other for what seemed like an age.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Benzedrine finally asked.  
“I… I don’t…”  
“Never mind,” Benzedrine turned on his heels, trying to hide the glistening in his eyes as he headed back to the door.  
“Wait!” Sandman called; relieved as his brother paused at the door, even though his back remained turned. “Silas, wait, please.”  
“What?” he asked, still without turning; trying hard to will away the stinging behind his eyes and any outward that this was killing him.  
“It’s not that I don’t have anything to say… it’s… I don’t even know where to begin. Silas… I don’t want to talk to your back. Please look at me.”

Benzedrine exhaled quietly, his shoulders dropping as he released the tension in them. He hated showing weakness in front of anyone, least of all his brother, and here he was, his eyes tearful once more. Sandman gasped as his brother turned to face him and he noticed the depth of pain in his eyes.

“So talk,” Benzedrine choked out.

Sandman lowered his eyes briefly as he gathered his thoughts.

“Silas,” he began, “I’m… I’m not going to start by saying I’m sorry and not because you don’t deserve it and not because I don’t mean it, but just… it doesn’t begin to cover how I feel. I’ve been so selfish, so wrapped up in my own needs that I had no idea that you had put all your dreams aside to let me enjoy mine. And what did I do? Did I thank you? No… I hated you. I can’t describe how ashamed I feel about that. But, worse than that, it started even before I left home. I was… I was jealous of you.”  
“Jealous?” Benzedrine replied with surprise. “Why?”  
“You were always much more intelligent than me, it just seemed to me that things came easier to you and instead of being happy for you, I was jealous. My stupid insecurities caught up with me and I convinced myself that not only was I stupid, but you were deliberately trying to point it out.”

Benzedrine lowered his eyes and nodded with a faint laugh on his lips.

“What’s funny?” Sandman pouted, trying hard not to believe that his brother was laughing at him.  
“You thought that?”  
“Well?”  
“Well, while you were thinking that, I was thinking that I was a dull, unimaginative shell. That all I was able to do was to tackle a logical problem and I didn’t have a creative bone in my body.”

Sandman offered a weak smile in return.

“Silas, I wouldn’t blame you if you never spoke to me again, but I need to say one thing to you.”  
“Marcus…”  
“No, let me say this,” Sandman begged.  
“Mar…”  
“Silas, please!” Sandman interrupted him. “I need to say this! You’re my little brother and I… I’ve treated you so very badly. I can’t offer any excuses that mean anything. How could I when too many times I’ve set out deliberately to hurt you? All this because I blamed you for something that wasn’t even a problem and I’m so ashamed of myself. I can’t ask you for your forgiveness, because I just don’t deserve it – even more so now that you’ve seen how much hate I had. But, even if you don’t believe me, and I don’t expect you will, I have to tell you… I love you, Silas. I really do and I’m so deeply sorry for everything I’ve done to hurt you over the years.”

Benzedrine’s mouth twisted into a pained frown. He had wanted to hear those words for so long it almost didn’t seem real. It felt as if any moment he would wake and find himself back in the Fun House. Taking a sharp deep breath, he nodded.

“My turn,” he began, his expression softening as he saw Sandman tense. “I’m not the easiest of people to get on with. I’m a lot like father and you’re more like our mother in your abilities and talents – you’re both very creative and father and I are both quite analytical. It’s inevitable that we’ll clash from time to time, but it’s how we deal with it that matters. It sounds stupid, but even if the truth seems to be the thing that hurts, it isn’t, not when you compare it to the damage done by a lie, or even by saying nothing. Your imagination is your special talent, but you have to be aware that it works against you too.”  
“You say you have no imagination, but you couldn’t have had that nightmare without it,” Sandman added, hoping to correct his brother’s opinion of himself.  
“Comforting!” Benzedrine pouted. “I have enough imagination to conjure a deadly nightmare!”  
“I didn’t mean it like that!” Sandman replied with a small, embarrassed laugh. “I’m sorry about the Nightmares, I should have dealt with them a long time ago.”  
“We should have dealt with a lot of things a long time ago,” Benzedrine added with a knowing nod. “By the way, don’t beat yourself up over the ball of hate.”  
“How can you be so understanding?” Sandman shook his head in bewilderment. “It was huge!”  
“It was hollow!” Benzedrine returned immediately.  
“Hollow?” Sandman frowned. “Hollow? I’ve never seen a hollow one before.”  
“Me neither. Marcus, it was just a shell, a veneer. There was no real hate, just a surface layer. A protective coat.”  
“I don’t hate you,” Sandman insisted sincerely.  
“I know,” Benzedrine smiled in return.  
“Well, it’s about time!” came a strained voice from the bed.  
“Patrick?” Benzedrine turned sharply at the sound of his voice. “You’re okay?”  
“I’m fine,” he sighed as he pushed himself up on one elbow. “I could use some water… but you two hug it out or whatever you do down here.”  
“I… er…” Benzedrine was torn between his brother and his patient.

Turning back, Benzedrine almost took a step back in surprise as he saw Sandman only inches from him. Pulled forward, Benzedrine went easily and gratefully into the embrace. Momentarily too shocked to react, it wasn’t long before Benzedrine’s arms curled around Sandman’s back. He had waited so very long for this one single moment, barely daring to hope it could ever happen. The sudden damp sensation on his shoulder told him that Marcus had been moved to tears too.

In the bed, Patrick lay back, a broad smile fixed on his face as finally the brothers were reunited.

*

“What’s going on?”

Andy turned his head to see Pete approaching Patrick’s room. Andy nodded to his side and waited for Pete to join him on the floor. As they both leaned against he wall, Pete prompted his friend once more.

“Well?”  
“They’re in there, Sandman and Benzedrine.”  
“Together? Arguing? In there?”

Pete didn’t know who to be more angry with – the brothers or Andy for allowing it to happen. With a stony expression and dark glowering eyes, he moved to push himself up again. Andy moved quickly, grabbing his upper arm and pulling him back down again.

“No, they’re not arguing,” he told him quickly. “Do you think I’d be sitting here letting them fight while Patrick was trying to recover?”

Pete shrugged and offered a guilty look.

“It crossed my mind,” he admitted.  
Andy heaved a deep sigh. “You’re not the only one who cares about Trick, you know.”  
“Sorry,” he murmured contritely. “Well, what are they doing then?”  
“I don’t know, do I? I haven’t heard a sound from them since Sandman shouted asking Benzedrine to stay in the room.”  
“So he did shout?”  
“Just once and it was a while ago. Since then, nothing.”  
“They’ve killed each other,” Pete mused.  
“Pete, I doubt it.”  
“Well, maybe it’s just one of them. Benzedrine’s in there now dissolving pieces of Sandman in large jars.”

Andy smiled broadly. He wasn’t entirely sure whether or not Pete was serious, but the idea was ludicrous enough to make him laugh.

“Dude, I’m serious! Or Sandman’s killed Benzedrine and has replaced him with Patrick!”

Andy gave a mock gasp and placed a hand over his mouth.

“You’re right and it’d work too! Right up until the moment he woke up and told us he was Patrick,” Andy chuckled at the expression on Pete’s face that had become something of a sulky pout. “Hey!” he added tapping Pete on the leg as the door began to open.

Both men pushed themselves to their feet and watched attentively hoping to find out what had happened. Their hearts sank when Benzedrine exited first, his eyes red and puffy. Neither knew what to make of it. Andy was certain they hadn’t argued but something had clearly upset him.

“What’s wrong?” Pete asked hurriedly. “Is it Patrick? Is he okay?”  
“He’s fine,” Sandman emerged with an equally harrowed expression.  
“Then what’s wrong?” Andy asked puzzled by the sight of the two men.

Benzedrine broke into a broad grin, almost a laugh, but with tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Nothing, absolutely nothing!”  
Sandman placed his hands on Benzedrine’s shoulders, his eyes glistening too. “We sorted things out.”  
“Well, it’s about time too!” Pete grinned at the pair.  
“That’s what he said,” Sandman jerked a thumb behind him.

Pete’s brow furrowed at the words, wondering if it was worth saying anything about the strangely familiar words.

“Pete? Is that you?”  
“Patrick?” Pete cried almost forgetting the two brothers.

Andy glanced at the pair as Pete squeezed past, eager to see his friend.

“I’m happy for you.”  
Benzedrine smiled. “He’s okay now, you’ll all be okay to go home, if you want?”  
“But… I’ll have to make it so you won’t remember any of this,” Mr Sandman added.  
“We won’t remember you?” Andy asked, his voice tinged with sadness.  
“No,” Sandman shook his head. “Trust me, it’s for the best.”  
“When do we have to go?” Andy asked reluctantly.  
“Can’t we let them remember, Marcus? They did help us. We wouldn’t have got things sorted if it wasn’t for them,” Benzedrine pleaded.  
“Silas,” Sandman sighed. “You know the rules, I can’t! They’re from Normal World! I have to.”  
“I guess so… but it just seems so harsh,” Benzedrine replied with a sigh.  
“If it’s any consolation, we’ll remember them.”  
“I’ll go and wake, Joe,” Andy frowned, strangely sad to be leaving.

*

“Trick, are you okay?” Pete asked hurriedly as he entered the room and headed straight for the bed where Patrick was already sitting up.  
“I’m fine,” Patrick nodded enthusiastically. “Whatever they did, it worked.”  
“Are you rested?” Pete continued. “Do you want to go home?”

Patrick laughed.

“One at a time! Yes, I’m rested, thank you, but I dreamt about what it would be like to live here, you know.”  
“You want to go home, though, don’t you?” Pete asked with a worried frown.  
“Yes, I want to go home,” Patrick replied in a sincere tone.

The door opened once more and both Patrick and Pete expected to see Joe and Andy, but instead, the brothers, The Guv’nor and Eleanor entered the room. Immediately, Eleanor rushed forward and threw her arms around Pete.

“Thank you!” she cried as she hugged him. “Oh! And you!” she stared tearfully at Patrick before releasing Pete to gather the singer in her arms. “Thank you so much!”  
“Mother!” Sandman complained in an embarrassed tone.  
“You’ve had your moment, let me have mine!” she scolded leaving Sandman merely to give a defeated shrug in reply.  
“Thank you,” The Guv’nor nodded, as Andy and Joe returned to the room. “All of you.”  
“Where’s Mr Crab?” Patrick asked as Eleanor pulled Joe into a heartfelt embrace of thanks before moving on to Andy.  
“He’s gone to the Dream World to help Donnie, apparently he’s not entirely comfortable with the job,” The Guv’nor replied. “There have also been a number of bad falls lately and we’ve had to admit a couple of people.”  
Sandman frowned guiltily. “Everyone wondering why he wasn’t there to catch them? His reputation will be shot.”  
“I kinda helped out there,” Andy smiled. “That’s why I’ve been so long, just been pretending to be Donnie and that I’d been admitted with a mystery bug.”  
“This looking like you guys has proved very useful,” Pete smiled, “But you could tell the difference,” he added looking at The Guv’nor and Eleanor, now back at his side.  
“Of course,” Joshua nodded. “Who wouldn’t recognise their own sons?”

Lord Joshua paused briefly.

“Now, before everything gets back to normal here, I expect you’ll want to go home?”  
“One thing first,” Patrick replied as he swung his legs off the bed.  
“And that is?” Joshua asked with curiosity.  
“Give Sandman and Benzedrine their powers in each other’s districts.”  
Joshua laughed lightly and nodded. “I already did.”

Benzedrine and Sandman turned disbelieving expressions toward their father before Benzedrine prodded his brother eagerly.

“Go on, try!” he encouraged.

Sandman raised his hand and within a moment, Benzedrine was wearing an outfit that matched Sandman’s own.

“Marcus!” Benzedrine complained flapping his hands at his side in his distress.  
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Sandman grinned mischievously, before returning Benzedrine’s usual attire.  
“Thank you,” Benzedrine pouted, before receiving a brief hug.  
“Don’t worry,” Sandman shrugged. “Next time you visit me, you’ll be able to get your own back.”  
“No more rivalry!” Joshua demanded.  
“No,” Sandman agreed with a smile aimed at Benzedrine.  
“No,” Benzedrine replied with a matching smile.

Rising from the bed, Patrick moved forward towards the small family group.

“I think it’s time for us to go home.”

Another round of hugs and good wishes followed before finally the four were ready to return home.

“Okay, I’m going to return you all to Pete’s living room. When you get there, you’ll wake up and think you just all fell asleep. You won’t remember us at all,” Sandman explained, the last few words sounding regretful as he spoke them.  
“Marcus,” Benzedrine leaned forward and whispered something in Sandman’s ear that raised a smile to his lips.  
“Are you ready?”

Nods and words of agreement signalled their readiness to leave, but their faces told of their sadness that they wouldn’t remember having been there. Sandman raised his hand once more.

*

“Pete?” Patrick queried, the first to wake. “Have you put the heating up too high again?” he added as everyone else opened their eyes.  
“I… I don’t think so,” Pete replied, confused as to what had happened and why he couldn’t remember why they were all in his home. Hadn’t he been in bed before?  
“I just had a crazy dream!” Joe announced. “We were all in another world with the characters from our America’s Suitehearts video.”  
“Marcus Sandman,” replied Pete frowning.  
“And his brother, Silas Benzedrine,” added Patrick equally confused.  
“You dreamt that too?” Andy questioned, leaning forward in his chair.

All four exchanged puzzled glances before Pete voiced what they were all thinking.

“No way! That was real!”

 

 **THE END**  
.


End file.
